


i believe, i believe

by ImSoSupernova



Category: SKAM (Spain)
Genre: Acting, Dancing and Singing, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, musical theatre, spring awakening - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2020-08-11 15:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImSoSupernova/pseuds/ImSoSupernova
Summary: When Lucas convinces Cris to try out for the musical he's directing, she ends up being cast opposite the new girl, Joana-- a girl who's so perfect and intense that Cris can't help loving to hate her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi y'all! this is a fun thing that I came up with one night and decided I HAD to write it! I hope you enjoy!! I'm still working out some of the kinks, but this WILL be finished!! I promise you all!
> 
> the beginning is inspired by my own personal head canon that cris doesn't listen to any music other than old town road.
> 
> if you're not familiar with the musical, I highly recommend checking out the songs that I reference! they're really good. but also be warned that the musical contains very serious and potentially triggering content.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Cris has a headache.

She has a headache, and it’s called her grades are slipping, and her mother’s on her case yet again, yapping about how this has never been such an issue for her  _ brothers,  _ how she needs to take some  _ responsibility-- _ and all the while her father just grunts in agreement in the background. Cris wants to scream at them that it’s not like she doesn't  _ try,  _ it’s just so  _ hard _ for her to concentrate, and the pressure at home  _ certainly _ isn’t helping, or encouraging her to try and do better. Maybe then they’ll shut up for once.

But right now, she doesn’t want to think about that. She doesn't want to think about the angry look on her mother’s face, or the low-alphabet score on the essay that she’s just gotten back. Right now, she wants to put on the most light-hearted, uplifting song she can find, and just let  _ loose.  _ The courtyard in front of her is empty, she’s sick of life, and so she thinks,  _ fuck it. _

As Lil Nas X starts playing through her earbuds, Cris feels herself relax for the first time all week. The beat sounds steady and solid, holding her, and the lyrics lift up her spirit for a moment, makes her feel as though she  _ can _ go on, can  _ ride til I can’t no more.  _ In that instant, she forgets where she is, who she is. She feels her body begin to move with the music, tension unwinding as she sways along in time, even busting out a few dance moves of her own. And, of course, singing along, belting out the words, telling the whole empty yard that  _ AIN’T NOBODY TELL ME NOTHING, NOBODY TELL ME NOTHING-- _

“Cris?  _ CRIS?”  _

Cris whirls around, pulling an earbud out. Apparently, the courtyard wasn't so empty after all. Lucas is standing behind her, a grin on his face. Cris rolls her eyes, trying to suppress the flush she feels creeping up over her face at being discovered in such a situation. “Okay, if you ever tell  _ anyone  _ about this--”

Lucas holds his hands up in surrender. “No worries, I promise,” he says. “I won’t tell anyone. It’s just--you’re  _ good,  _ Cris.”

“Good?” Cris stares at him. “Sorry,  _ what?” _

“Y’know.” Lucas grins again, sheepishly. “Your singing, I mean. You’ve got talent, Cris.” He laughs. “How didn’t I know this before?”

Cris shrugs. She can feel that blush creeping back up again, and she doesn’t quite know how to respond to this declaration. “I--I--I guess I just never really thought about it.”

“Well, you should,” Lucas says. “Really. It’s  _ good. _ You should let the world know.”

“Maybe…” Cris isn’t exactly sure what he’s getting at.

“For example,” Lucas continues, “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m actually directing a musical,  _ Spring Awakening.  _ And I’m looking for the cast to be all girls, and auditions are actually coming up pretty soon, so…”

_ Ah.  _ Now Cris understands, stomach sinking a little. So that’s what all this complimenting is for. “Ah,” she says, nodding. “You want me to try out.”

Lucas nods back, vigorously. “I’d love to have you.”

Is he for real? Her, in a musical, all singing and dancing and jazz hands? Cris laughs, and shakes her head. “No can do. Sorry, Lucas.”

To her chagrin, his grin doesn’t seem to falter. “Okay, fair enough. But let me just say,  _ Spring Awakening  _ isn't your classic Broadway musical. It’s got rock music, sex, a whole song called ‘Totally Fucked’...it’s not gonna all be tap dancing and jazz hands.”

“Wow,” Cris says, blinking. “And they’re letting you put this on?”

Lucas shrugs. “I managed to twist a few arms.”

“Alright.” Cris laughs. “I’m happy to hear that, but I’m sorry, it’s still a no.”

“Okay.” Lucas wiggles his eyebrows, lifted the straps on his backpack, and makes as if he’s about to walk away. “Just let me know if you change your mind, though.”

_ “Okay,”  _ Cris says, rolling her eyes at his back. 

Like hell that’s gonna happen.

Cris hasn’t noticed before, but apparently Lucas has been busy. Multi-colored posters greet her everywhere she turns as she enters the school the following morning, all of them calling out for her to  _ Audition for Spring Awakening!,  _ and  _ Join the Drama Club family!  _ “Drama Club cult, more like,” she mutters under her breath.

“Hey, girl!”

Cris turns around to see Viri heading toward her, Eva and Nora not far behind. “Hey!” She calls back, breaking into a smile. “What’s up?”

“Fucking  _ tired,  _ is what’s up,” Eva complains, yawning hugely as if to prove her point. “Fucking Ramírez’s math problems kept me up till 3:00 last night!”

“Ugh, me too,” Amira groans, joining them. “The man is trying to kill us, I  _ swear.” _

“It should be illegal, honestly!” Eva exclaims. “Making kids work that late. How the hell am I supposed to learn now?”

“Honestly!” Viri agrees, nodding vigorously. “The amount of times I’ve stayed up nearly all night to catch up on math, or reading, or science--ridiculous.”

“School’s just inhumane, honestly,” Cris murmurs under her breath.

The girls all glance at her, quiet for a moment. Then, Eva says, “Honestly? Yeah.” 

They begin to make their way further into the building, the rest of school crowding in around them. Cris glances around at the posters again. “Did you guys see this?” she asks.

“See what?” Viri peers over to look.

Cris reaches over to pull one of the posters off the wall. “This... _ musical  _ Lucas is putting on. He tried to recruit me for it yesterday, if you can believe it. I mean,  _ me? _ In a musical? As if I’d join his nerd gang.”

Cris laughs, but it became painfully obvious very quickly that none of her friends are laughing along with her. Instead, they’re just kind of staring at her. “What?” she asks. 

“Cris…” Eva shifts uncomfortably. “You shouldn’t make fun of this show like that. Lucas had to work really hard to get it put on, and it’s really important to him. And it’s a really good, really important show. In fact--” she clears her throat and stands up a bit straighter “--I’m actually auditioning for it.”

Cris feels her stomach sink a little. Eva?  _ Seriously? _ She’s one of the _ last  _ people Cris would expect to be into this musical theatre thing, even if she’s Lucas’s best friend. “Really?” she asks in a small voice.

Eva nods, and glances over at Nora, who speaks up as well. “Me too,” she says. “I used to do some theatre stuff in Wisconsin, and it’s a really great show.”

“Yeah,” Viri agrees. “I wasn’t sure at first, but Lucas talked me into it. He said I’m just a  _ natural  _ for the stage, and maybe he’s right, you know?”

Cris has to stifle a laugh,  _ that  _ certainly could be true. But really, all her friends are doing this show now? All of them are dead set on defending the validity of the  _ the-atre? _ Since  _ when? _ She turns to Amira, a pleading look in her eyes. Surely, she’ll agree with her?

“Sorry, Cris,” Amira shrugs, and Cris’s heart sinks. “Lucas got me to listen to the soundtrack and I was hooked. And I’ve always kind of wondered what it would be like to do acting.”

“Damn,” Cris says softly. “Okay.”

It was clear she was alone in this.

As soon as Cris opens the door to her apartment, she feels her body seize up and her breath hitch in her throat as though some sort of invisible force has grabbed her and held her tight the moment she walks in. She can hear her mother’s voice in the living room, chatting away with her father, and feels herself tense up even more. Carefully shaking off her shoes, she begins to tiptoe to her room as quietly as possible, hoping she can hide out there until dinner, at least. But as she makes her way past the entrance to the living room, she hears her mother’s voice call out, “Cristina? Is that you?”

_ Fuck.  _ Cris straightens up, forces a smile, and hesitantly steps into the room. “Hi, Mama. Hi, Papa.”

She tries to step back, make her escape, but her mother smiles at her, knowingly, almost, and says, “Won’t you come join us, now?”

And now she’s stuck. Cris sighs, and made her way into the room, taking a seat in between her parents. They chat for a little while around her, about various family friends whose kids are getting married, or having kids of their own, and then turn to talk about politics, the economy. But then, just as Cris has begun to think that she’s safe and started to pull out her phone, they turn on her. “How was your day?” her dad asks.

Cris shrugs. “I don’t know. Fine.”

“Things getting any easier?” her mother asks. 

“I guess? Maybe.” Cris shrugs again. The truth is, not really. Her grades are stagnating at best, but it honestly isn’t much of a stretch to guess that they’re dropping, either.

“Making any progress on that biology midterm paper?” 

“Maybe. A little.” Cris shifts uncomfortably.

“Well, when’s it due?”

Cris shrugs again. “Like two weeks, I think.”

“You  _ think?”  _ Her mother starts in outrage. “It’s an exam grade, and you  _ think  _ you know when it’s due?”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Cris says angrily, “I can’t always remember the exact dates of things  _ all the time.  _ I have other things to worry about!”

Her mother laughs, the laugh that drives Cris insane, that always stays in her ears, even when her mother is far, far away.  _ “Other _ things? What else do you even do, really, besides text away on your phone and stay out too late with your friends?”

Cris feels the familiar rage erupt inside her, spreading throughout her body until it’s about to consume her whole. “Lots of things!” she declares. “Like--”

“Like what?” her mother challenges.

“Like--” Cris searches her mind wildly for an idea, something,  _ anything.  _ Then, she remembers. “I’m actually auditioning for this musical that the school’s putting on. Would you call  _ that  _ nothing?”

Her mother laughs, actually  _ laughs  _ at this.  _ “You?  _ A  _ musical?  _ Now  _ that  _ I’d like to see. Do you even sing? Dance?”

“Maybe I do!” Cris snaps back. “How would you even know, anyway? It’s not like you ever pay attention to anything about me that doesn’t have to do with schoolwork!”

Her mother opens her mouth to snarl back a reply, but Cris won’t hear any more. She storms off to her room. 

Cris lays on her bed in the dark, fuming. Her mother really thinks she can’t do this, huh? Thinks she can’t sing, can’t dance? Well, what the hell does she know? What the hell do any of them know, really?

Perhaps Cris can surprise them all.

She texts Lucas. 

**Cris: ** if you still want me for the musical, id like to audition after all

He texts back only moments later.

**Lucas: ** Great! :D

**Lucas: ** Here’s a PDF of the audition music, and the Broadway cast recording. Feel free to ask if you want any more help!

Cris opens the PDF, and glances at the lyrics of the song. Immediately, she begins to laugh. 

It’s all too perfect.

“Cristina Soto?”

The sound of Lucas’s voice sends a jolt of fear through Cris. What is she thinking? Maybe her mother’s right, after all, and she’s just being stupid and stubborn. She can’t dance, who knows if she can actually sing. She’s just stepping into a big mess, a big embarrassment. For a moment, she glances behind her, considering running out the door. But as she does so, she catches the eye of a girl sitting a few rows back, a girl she doesn’t recognize, with dark eyes and deep purple hair. The intensity of the girl’s gaze moves something in Cris. She seems to be challenging Cris, daring her, almost.  _ Go ahead, do your worst. _

Cris stands up. She’ll take the challenge. Fuck all her doubts. Fuck her mother. She can do this.

“Break a leg,” Lucas whispers to her as she passes him, giving her an encouraging smile. Cris stands up straighter.

When she gets to the stage, Cris turns to face the audience. As she stares into the sea of dark, empty seats, she catches the eye of that girl again. She seems to be watching her intently, curiously. Cris smiles, and speaks. “My name is Cristina Soto, and today I’m going to be singing the song ‘Mama Who Bore Me’.”

“Alright,” Lucas says. “Go ahead.”

The music begins, and Cris lest herself relax. She lets herself  _ sing. _

_ Mama, who bore me _

_ Mama, who gave me _

_ No way to handle things _

_ Who made me so sad _

_ Mama, the weeping _

_ Mama, the angels _

_ No sleep in Heaven  _

_ Or Bethlehem _

_ Some pray that one day, _

_ Christ will come a-calling _

_ They’ll light a candle _

_ And hope that it glows _

_ And some just lie there _

_ Cry for him to come and find them _

_ But when he comes _

_ They don’t know how to go... _

When she finishes, it’s quiet for a moment. Then there’s a smattering of applause as Lucas begins to clap, and the few others in the audience follow suit. Including, Cris notices with a small smile, the purple-haired girl, who gives a polite golf clap. “Thank you,” she says, and begins to descend the stage steps. 

Lucas flashes her an excited thumbs up as she walks by, and Cris ducks her head and grins in spite of herself. Suddenly elated with the whole spectacle of auditioning and theatre, she decides to sit and watch the rest of the auditions. One by one, girls file onto the stage and sing a few bars, almost all from the same song Cris has sung, although a few are different. But then--

“Joana Bianchi,” Lucas calls out.

It’s the purple-haired girl. She swiftly makes her way to the front of the stage, and stands confidently, facing out. “My name is Joana Bianchi,” she says. “And I’m going to be singing ‘The Bitch of Living’.”

“Alright!” Lucas crows. “Go ahead!”

The music begins, a jolting, electric guitar intro. And the girl,  _ Joana,  _ sings loudly, angrily:

_ God, I dreamed there was an angel _

_ Who could hear me through the wall _

_ As I cried out, like in Latin _

_ This is so not life at all _

_ Help me out, out of this nightmare _

_ Then I heard her silver call _

_ She said, just give it time kid _

_ I come to one and all _

_ She said, give me that hand please _

_ And the itch you can’t control _

_ Let me teach you how to handle  _

_ All the sadness in your soul _

_ Oh, we’ll work that silver magic _

_ Then we’ll aim it at the wall _

_ She said love may make you blind, kid _

_ But I wouldn’t mind at all. _

Cris listens to the lyrics with a slight frown on her face. She’s very talented, yes, singing with just the right amount of passion and demand for justice, but-- _ no, _ it couldn’t be.

Leaning over a few rows, Cris whispers to Lucas, “Sorry, but--is she singing about  _ masturbation?” _

Without turning to look at her, or any other reaction, Lucas nods. “Yup.”

“Well.” Cris leans back. 

This is certainly going to be an interesting show.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya! welcome back! this chapter contains some very brief mentions of the sort of things that happen in the show spring awakening. there's nothing super detailed, but it is important to note that some aspects of the show can be very triggering. I will include trigger warnings in the tags and at the beginnings of each chapter as relevant.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Cris doesn’t think too much about the audition over the weekend. It’s such a strange, exhilarating idea that she can barely believe it’s something she’s actually done. The Cris that sang that song, that watched all those other performers seems so different from the Cris she is now, is every other second of her life except for that one, shining moment. It feels more like a distant memory, something a stranger did in a story someone told her or a movie she watched a long time ago. Not her. Not  _ really  _ her. 

So in the meantime, she keeps herself busy. Goes to a party with her friends, avoids her mother as much as possible, and struggles her way through the readings, the math problems, and the papers she’s been assigned for homework over the weekend. All the things that Cris Soto does.

Cris walks into school Monday under the weight of her backpack, trudging through the doors and looking around listlessly for her friends. Not seeing them amongst the crowds of people pouring into the school, she makes her way over to their favorite spot by the windows to wait, leaning against the wall and thoughtlessly bouncing her knee. She’s just about ready to give up and go to class when she hears someone squeal her name and the pounding of footsteps, and suddenly her friends are charging at her full speed, eyes bright with excitement and all calling her name.

“Cris! Cris! Congratulations!” Eva cries as she gets into earshot.

_ Congratulations?  _ “Sorry, what?” Cris asks. She has no idea what Eva could be talking about; as far as she knows she’s done absolutely nothing to merit any sort of congratulations.

“The cast list!” Viri exclaims. “Didn’t you see?”

“Cast list? What? No…” Cris feels the words stir in her brain, highlighting something deep down that she feels she  _ should _ have remembered, but doesn’t.

“The  _ Spring Awakening  _ cast list, of course!” Eva says. “You got a really good part--you’re Ernst!”

It all comes back to Cris in a flash--the audition, the singing, the girl, Lucas saying  _ cast list goes up Monday!  _ But this part, an actual role, with a  _ name? _ It’s not what she’s signed up for, not her idea of some minor chorus role, mouthing the words to the songs in the background. It’s...too much. Does Lucas really think she can do this?

Her friends are still staring at her in excitement, in expectancy, and Cris realizes she needs to say something,  _ anything.  _ “Wow,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief that’s all too real, “just...wow.”

“I’m so  _ happy  _ for you!” Amira cries, reaching over to give her a one-armed hug. “Last week you weren’t even into the idea of a musical at all, and now you’ve got a super great part...that’s what I call growth!”

Cris forces a smile and laughs along with the rest of her friends. But she glances down when they’re not looking, wonders exactly what she’s going to do now.

Later, Cris goes to check out the cast list, as if her friends are somehow mistaken, and looking at it herself will be able to set things straight. It takes her a while to find it, wandering through the halls of the arts wing of the school, so winding, so unfamiliar to her. Eventually, she sees a sign with  _ THEATER →  _ on it in big letters, cheerfully pointing her in the right direction. She turns the corner, and there it is, a brightly-colored piece of paper taped up against one of the walls with  _ CAST LIST :) !!!!  _ written at the top in big, curly letters. Cris leans over to read it.

_ CAST LIST :) !!!!! _

_ WENDLA - Inés González _

_ MELCHIOR - Lara Sánchez _

_ MORITZ - Amira Naybet _

_ ILSE - Viri Gómez _

_ MARTHA - Eva Villanueva _

_ THEA - Nora Grace _

_ ERNST - Cris Soto _

_ HANSCHEN - Joana Bianchi _

There are more names, more roles making their way down the list, but Cris can’t focus on the rest of them. It’s true, it’s really true, and seeing her name there in black and white (or, well, black and shocking pink) only solidifies it in her mind. She’s going to have to take this role. It’s hers. She leans back against the wall and closes her eyes. What the hell has she gotten herself into?

“Cris!” 

Her eyes snap open at the sound of her name, and she immediately sees Lucas coming towards her, a huge smile on his face. “Checking out the list, I see,” he says, giving her a wink. “What do you think?”

“I--I--” Cris doesn’t know what to say.  _ I didn't want this? Why? Why me?  _ But he’s so  _ happy, _ looking at her. She doesn’t understand it at all. “I’m--I’m surprised, honestly. I thought I’d get, like, a background part, you know, standing in the background, rocking the jazz hands?”

Lucas laughs. “Oh, Cris,” he says, and Cris feels herself begin to switch from confusion to annoyance at his tone. “There’s not really a part like that in  _ Spring Awakening.  _ It’s a pretty small show. But trust me.” He reaches out to take her hand. “You were  _ amazing  _ at that audition. Great voice, great acting--equal parts wonder, wistfulness, anger. I need someone who’s able to get  _ depth  _ for this role, and that’s you! You’re going to be wonderful as Ernst. I know it.”

Cris shakes her head automatically at his praise. How can he think he knows all this from just a few bars of song? But there’s something about the earnestness in his voice, the clarity in his eyes that makes her think maybe he’s  _ not _ exaggerating after all, that he’s not making things up. Maybe he really believes in her, after all.

“You really think?” she asks quietly.

“No, Cris.” Lucas shakes his head. “I don’t  _ think.  _ I  _ know.” _

Cris doesn’t know how to respond to this, but she thinks she’s smiling.

Lucas points at her as he begins to walk away. “Read-through today, directly after school. See you there?”

Cris nods. “Yeah. See you there.”

Cris hangs outside the door to the theater for a few minutes after school, listening to the loud chatter and excitement of the people already inside--their happy voices, bright peals of laughter, thumping footsteps. At one point, someone starts plunking out a song Cris doesn’t recognize on the piano, and a few people begin to sing along, harmonizing perfectly. The sound of this has a sort of mesmerizing effect on Cris, and she stands there for a moment, completely still, just listening,  _ listening.  _

“Hey!” Cris jumps at the voice. It’s Amira, heading straight towards her. “There you are! Ready to go in?”

Cris blinks. The answer, really, is no, but she’s promised Lucas and if she doesn’t do it now, she never will. “Sure,” she says. “Let’s go.”

By the time Cris enters it’s quieted down a little inside and the cast is gathering onstage, pulling up chairs, couches and stools into a loose circle. As Cris watches their progress carefully, wincing a little at the various squeaks and scrapes of chair legs on the stage floor, she sees Nora turn and wave at her and Amira, gesturing to a worn blue couch next to where she’s sitting with Eva and Viri. Amira waves back and begins to hurry down the aisle to the stage. Cris follows her in an awkward half-jog.

She settles on the couch next to Amira. It’s a comfortable seat, although as Cris feels it more and more, she begins to have serious concerns about the last time it’s been washed, if ever. She’s thinking about that, as well as the possible number of bug infestations that might very well be crawling around underneath and within the cushions, just looking for some teenage girl’s skin to perch upon, when Lucas drops a thick, white book in her lap, startling her. “What’s this?” she asks.

“It’s your script, with the music,” Lucas answers. “We’re only renting these, so make sure not to lose it.”

Cris blinks. “Okay,” she says, and begins to look through it idly, glancing carelessly over the lines and music that make up the show she’s found herself in. While she flips through the pages, she glances up for a moment, looking around the people in the circle. She recognizes most of the girls there, if only by sight, but there’s also two women as well, full-on adults sitting in the circle with the rest of the cast.  _ Huh.  _ Cris isn’t sure what to make of that. 

Glancing a bit further around the circle, she briefly makes eye contact with a girl across from her who’s also looking carefully through the script. It’s the girl from the audition, she realizes, the one with the watchful eyes and the purple hair.  _ Joana,  _ Cris remembers. Not to be intimidated, she stares back until the girl,  _ Joana,  _ looks back down at her script. And then she finds herself watching for a little while longer.

“Okay, cast!” Lucas claps his hands together, and the steady hubbub dies down. “First of all, welcome, everyone! I’m so excited to have all of you here for our high school’s all-girl production of  _ Spring Awakening!” _

He pauses for effect, and several of the girls around Cris let out a few whoops. Lucas grins. “Thank you,” he says. “So today is gonna be our read-through, just to go through the script and get a bit of a feel for what this show’s all about. For the first time through, don’t worry about having perfect delivery so much as just paying attention to when it’s your part. Sound good? Okay, so, to start out, I think it would be good to have everyone introduce themselves and the role that they’re gonna be playing, and then we can begin!”

He turns to Lara, who’s sitting next to him, and gestures at her to begin. She breaks into a huge smile, and immediately announces her role as  _ Melchior Gabor, young radical,  _ flourishing at the end. Everyone laughs. Cris rolls her eyes. They go around the circle, Inés introducing herself next, then Eva, Nora, Viri, and Amira. And then it’s Cris’s turn, and she finds that the entire group’s eyes are on her. Swallowing, she says, “H-Hi, everyone. I’m Cris Soto, and I’m gonna be playing…” She quickly glances down at the script again. “Ernst.” She pronounces it like  _ Urnst. _

There’s a moment of silence, and then Cris hears a quiet voice say something that sounds like,  _ “Airnst.” _

“Sorry?” Cris asks.

She hears a throat clear, and the same voice, louder this time. “It’s pronounced  _ Airnst.” _

It’s that purple-haired girl, Joana, who’s speaking, and Cris feels her face heat up in embarrassment. “Sorry,” she says pointedly. “ _ Airnst.” _

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Lucas says quickly, evidently trying to break the awkward silence that follows Cris’s response. “I mean, I’m sure none of us are fluent in German here, right?”

A few girls nod, and a couple others mutter a half-hearted agreement. “Great,” Lucas says, overly-bright. “Now, shall we continue?”

They continue around the circle, saying names and roles and names and roles until Cris’s head is spinning. There are young girls and young boys being played by young girls, and then the two women are playing all the adults in the show, and Cris can’t for the life of her keep all these things straight. And then finally, they get to  _ her.  _ “Hi,” she says, softly yet confidently. “I’m Joana. I’m going to be playing the role of Hanschen.”

“Excellent!” Lucas says. “Now, let’s begin!”

Cris realizes three things as they read through the script.

One, this show is dark as  _ fuck.  _ Lucas wasn't exaggerating when he said this wasn’t any old Broadway show. There’s sexual abuse and physical abuse and Amira’s character commits suicide, and suddenly Cris is thinking that she truly is, beyond a doubt, in  _ way  _ over her head. The more they read, the more uncomfortable Cris feels, a sort of heaviness twisting in her stomach. A continuous, roiling dread.

Two, the show is sexual as  _ fuck. _ If that audition song shocked her, it’s nothing compared to the rest of the show. It’s not even the only song about masturbation. Hell, there’s an entire  _ scene  _ where a character is masturbating onstage. Some of these moments are sort of funny in their awkwardness and plaintive truth, but in a way they’re almost sweet and wistful. Other moments, however, are just dark and upsetting, and Cris feels that discomfort again. She can’t really find anything humorous about any of these scenes.

Three, her character is gay. Of course, she supposes, all the relationships in this production are gay, or at least perceived as gay since they’re all girls, but her character is full on  _ gay- _ gay. Meant to be gay in the original production, and every production since. And it’s not that Cris  _ minds  _ that, really. She’s never exactly thought of herself as  _ straight  _ anyway. It’s just that--the person her character’s supposed to be gay with?

It’s Joana. Or, well, her character. Hanschen.

And Cris--well, Cris doesn’t really know how she feels about that.

Cris-as-Ernst doesn’t really do all that much during the beginning of act two. She’s involved in a few scenes, but for the most part, she sits and spaces out while the actors do their own scenes around her. Until they come to a scene in a vineyard, and then suddenly it’s just Cris, reading on her own. With Joana.

“These bells,” Joana says, reading from her script. “So peaceful.”

“I know.” Cris reads from her own, trying to bring a dreamy, cheerful tone into her voice. “Sometimes, when it’s quiet, in the evening like this, I imagine myself as a…” She stumbles for a moment over the ridiculousness of the next line. “A country pastor. With my red-cheeked wife, my library, my degrees...Boys and girls, who live nearby, give me their hands when I go walking…”

“You can’t be serious,” Joana says abruptly, and even though she’s only reading lines from a script, Cris can’t help flushing with embarrassment. “Really, Ernst, you’re such a sentimentalist! The pious, serene faces you see on the clergy, it’s all an act--to hide their envy.”

_ Envy... _ the way she speaks is so compelling, ringing so clear and confident across the room. Cris finds herself lowering her script, hanging onto her every word as she continues, looking Cris straight in the eye, a small smile on her face. “Trust me, there are only three ways a man can go. He can let the status quo defeat him--like Moritz.” Joana gestures to Amira. There’s a few nervous giggles among the cast members. “He can rock the boat, like Melchior--”gesture to Lara “--and be expelled. Or, he can bide his time and let the System work for  _ him _ \--” Joana looks Cris straight in the eye again “--like me.” 

She smiles more wildly, mischievously. “Think of the future as a pail of whole milk. One man sweats and stirs--churning it into butter--like Otto, for example.” Cris can’t help giggling a little at this, even though she can’t remember who Otto is in the show at this point. “Another man frets, and spills his milk, and cries all night. Like Georg. But me, well…” Something in the timbre of Joana’s voice changes. She straightens her back, and fixes Cris with the most intense gaze she’s ever been on the receiving end of. She feels small, vulnerable, as Joana continues her line. “I’m like a pussycat. I just...skim off the cream.”

Even though they’re part of a huge circle and there are people around them on all sides, as Cris looks across the circle to Joana and sees her looking back with those meaningful eyes, that clever, knowing smile, it feels for a moment as though they’re the only people in the room, the school, the  _ world,  _ maybe. 

“J-just skim off the cream?” she breathes.

“Right.” Joana nods, never looking away.

“But what about that--?” Joana’s expression is changing as Cris reads her next line, eyes glinting with humor. “You’re laughing,” Cris complains. But Joana’s face softens, and Cris begins to feel confused. “What--? J--Hanschen?”

There’s a moment of silence where they just  _ look  _ at each other, where Cris sees Joana and she feels that Joana sees her, maybe  _ really  _ sees her. And Cris can’t look away, doesn’t  _ want  _ to look away, just wants to stay forever, staring into those dark, mysterious, intense eyes--

Lucas clears his throat. “Great!” he says. “Now, let’s skip the song for now, and go on to Wendla’s lines in the next scene…”

The spell’s broken, and Joana looks away as Inés begins to read again. Cris is left looking a bit too long, a bit confused and a bit embarrassed by the intensity of the emotion that she’s just felt, an emotion that she can’t really explain or describe.

The rest of the read-through passes without incident, and at the end, Lucas congratulates the cast on their hard work. “Rehearsal schedules will be posted starting tomorrow,” he says, “and for now, have the  _ loveliest  _ evening!”

There’s a chorus of  _ Thank you, you too’s _ , and the cast slowly begins to break up, stopping to chat and congratulate each other before they all head out. “You were  _ great!”  _ Eva exclaims to Cris. “That vineyard scene...wow! And it’s just the first day, you’re gonna  _ kill  _ the audience!”

Cris laughs, genuinely pleased by Eva’s praise. “Well, I hope not,” she jokes. “But thank you, really…”

The rest of her friends join in, talking about the tough scenes and the exciting scenes and the awkward scenes that they’re all going to be a part of. Their energy is infectious, and Cris lets herself just sit back and smile, listening to her friends’ voices and joy.

“Hey.”

Cris turns around at the sound of a new voice. It’s Joana, her big scene buddy, looking at her through her purple hair and a shy smile. “Hi,” Cris says awkwardly.

“Hey,” Joana says again. “Good work today! I’m excited to be working with you!”

_ Excited to be working with you?  _ What the hell does that mean, that weird, professional speak? Now, Cris supposes, since she can actually pronounce the name of the character she’s playing, she’s an acceptable actor to play alongside with?  _ Or... _ and Cris doesn’t even want to think about this _ ...that moment, that energy I felt during the vineyard scene...it was just acting, wasn’t it? Just doing a job, playing a part. Nothing else.  _ It should be obvious, she supposes, but the thought makes her flush for some reason, frustrated, unable to meet Joana’s eye.

Cris gives her a curt nod and a tight smile. “Thanks. You too.”

And then she turns back to her laughing, happy friends.

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to all the leadership retreats i've been on!!!

Rehearsal starts the next day, and Cris has no idea what to expect. She’s looked over her lines a little, listened to a few of the songs, sure. But the idea that in two months, everything's supposed to come together like _ that, _ a perfect mix of scene and song and dance that just _ works, _ feels _ natural, _ somehow? It just seems so incomprehensible to her. She can’t even begin to imagine how this process starts.

But no matter what she thinks she expects (or doesn’t expect), none of her muddled, scattered ideas can prepare her for the reality of what Lucas has planned. She realizes this as he hands her and all the rest of the cast members different pieces of a white utility pipe, sawn in half.

“As you all know,” he says, pacing back and forth like a drill sergeant, _ “Spring Awakening _is a show that deals with very difficult themes, and has a lot of intense scenes. In order to perform them well, there needs to be a high level of trust and respect between you all, the cast members. So for our first rehearsal, we’re going to be doing a series of team-building exercises to help build that trust.” 

Cris rolls her eyes. What’s the plan now, for all of them to sit in a circle and sing “Kumbaya”? She hears a soft scoff behind her left ear, and turns around. To her surprise it’s golden girl Joana, standing behind her with her arms crossed and looking just as sour and _ over _ this idea as Cris feels. _ Huh, _Cris thinks. She wouldn’t have expected that. They make eye contact, briefly, and Cris instinctively gives her a small nod. She looks away as Lucas speaks again.

“For your first task,” he instructs, standing still now, “you must get this tennis ball--” he holds it up like a trophy “--into this bucket.” He drops the tennis ball into a large, green bucket next to him as a demonstration. “In order to do that, you must use these half-pipe pieces to form a ramp, _ together. _ However, no two pieces of pipe can make any form of physical contact with each other. They must stay separate. If they touch, or if the ball falls, you must take the ball back to the beginning of the ramp and start over. Any questions?” Cris glances around. Silence. “Okay.” Lucas claps his hands together. “You have twenty minutes. Your time starts... _ now!” _

Cris hears the beep of a stopwatch, and turns to the rest of the girls, unsure of where to start. There’s a moment of stillness, the twelve of them just looking at each other in confusion, morphing into slowly-dawning comprehension. Then, Lara springs into action. “Okay, guys!” she says, clapping her hands together just as Lucas did. “Let’s get started. I think we should start with whoever’s tallest at the top, because they can hold their pipe up higher. Then, we can go from taller to shorter, and whoever’s shortest can crouch at the end. Does that sound good?”

There’s a scattered murmur of assent. “Great!” Lara grins, and begins to instruct them further. “Nora, I think you’re definitely one of the taller people here, and then Viri and Eva…”

Cris doesn’t pay the whole thing too much attention. She stands where Lara tells her to stand, between Joana and a girl whose name she can’t remember, and holds the pipe the way Amira suggests as the best way to hold it (“Not too steep, so the ball doesn’t fly right off”). And she waits, bouncing her foot, staring off towards the exit sign at the back of the theater as the rest of the cast scurries and shouts around her, until it’s her time to hold her piece of pipe and help out the rest of the group.

The first time Lucas rolls the ball down their patchwork handheld ramp, it catches on the edge of one of the pipes about halfway down and bounces away. The girl holding the pipe in question cries out “Sorry!” in a tone that truly borders on frantic, and her neighbors swarm her, patting her on the shoulders and telling her not to worry, that they can always try again. Cris snorts at this dramatic reaction, and then glances around guiltily, hoping no one’s heard her. 

The second time, the ball makes its way slowly and carefully down the course, wobbling vigorously at some points and dropping frighteningly at others. But it hangs on and down it goes, traveling through the pipes towards Cris. At the sight of it drawing nearer and nearer, Cris feels the nerves emerge, squirming their way up into her stomach. Sure, it’s just a game, but she doesn’t want to be _ that _person who fucks it up for everyone else. That would be a shitty first impression.

The ball comes ever-closer, and Cris finds herself holding her breath as it drops onto her pipe and rolls so slowly, _ painfully _slowly, all the way down to the end, where it lands successfully onto the next pipe. Cris lets out a slow exhale.

“Wait!” Lucas calls, and her body freezes up again. “Sorry, but wait! We have to start over.”

Cris can’t believe what’s she’s hearing. “Why?” she demands, over the groans and sighs over the people around her. She barely did anything besides hold a pipe, how could she have _ possibly _fucked it up?

“Sorry I didn’t say anything sooner, it took me a moment,” Lucas says. “But as Joana passed the ball to you, Cris, I saw your pipes touch just ever so slightly. Which means, as you all know, we have to start over again.”

_ Seriously? _Cris rolls her eyes, not caring who sees her. He barely noticed it in the first place, why should it matter when the moment passed? But the girl next to her hands the ball off to Lucas obediently, and he walks all the way down to the beginning of the line again without any serious challenge.

_ Well, _ Cris reflects with a sigh as the ball begins its slow roll down the pipes again, glancing sideways at Joana, _ I wasn’t the one passing it on, so it’s not REALLY my fault. At least. _

The third try, they succeed. The ball slowly, nail-bitingly, wobbles its way down the pipes without any major troubles, and plops satisfyingly in the bucket. The girls around Cris all cheer and clap, grabbing their neighbors in hugs and tossing their pipes aside in triumph. Caught up in the exhilaration of the moment, Cris finds herself joining in too, clapping and whooping, and turns to grin at and congratulate her neighbors. But when she looks to Joana, she feels the smile slide off her face for a moment. She’s not joining in with the rest of the festivities; no grins, no cheers. Instead, Joana’s eyes are narrowed, face lined with thought, pipe still clutched tightly in her hand. She’s looking straight at Cris’s smiling face, but it feels like she’s seeing straight through her. Like she doesn’t matter.

_ Well, then. _Cris looks away, and tries to grin again.

“Great job, girls!” Lucas calls, clapping too. “Alright! Time for our next challenge. For this one, you’re going to be in pairs that I will read out now. When I read them, you should move to stand together.” He pulls out a piece of paper. “Lara and Amira. Eva and Viri. Inés and Nora. Cris and Joana.” 

The list goes on, but Cris doesn’t hear anymore. She wants to roll her eyes, stomp her foot, cross her arms and pout like a child in frustration. _ Of course, of COURSE it’s her. _ She can’t ever escape her, apparently. Working alongside her in the show, standing next to her in this stupid tennis ball exercise, and now _ this. _She glances back at Joana, still standing next to her. Joana’s looking straight ahead. Her face hasn’t changed at all.

“Alright,” Lucas says again.

They’re in their pairs now, scattered across the stage in separate clumps. Lucas stands downstage, facing them all. “Here’s what you do now,” he says. “All of you--sit down on the floor, back to back with your partner.”

Just as before, everyone looks at each other before they begin. Cris glances at Joana, catching her eye just for a moment. In the flurry of activity that follows, Cris turns herself away from Joana and scoots back blindly until she feels contact. Facing away from her partner now, Cris closes her eyes for a moment. She can feel the warmth of Joana’s body against hers, the soft curve of her spine, the way her back moves up and down in time with her breathing. There’s something about all this, such sensation of touch coupled with the lack of sight, the cacophony of sound, that makes Cris’s heart rise in her chest, makes her dizzy.

“All set? Good,” Lucas says, breaking her out of her thoughts. “Now, link arms with your partner.”

Obediently, mechanically, Cris reaches back, wrapping her arms through Joana’s, slipping her elbows into the crooks of Joana’s limbs. As though they’re puzzle pieces clicking into place, missing links of a chain finally brought back together. It brings them ever closer, backs lined up perfectly straight against each other.

“Okay,” Lucas calls. “Now, the hard part. You all need to stand up. Together.”

_ What? _Cris remembers once again that this is part of an exercise, some sort of challenge that they need to complete. Not just sitting together. Nothing so easy.

Around her, bodies begin to rise, legs scrabbling against the wooden floor desperately until they collapse in on themselves, laughter erupting at their comical failures. “Well,” Cris says, mainly to herself. “Standing up, huh? Shouldn’t be hard.”

“Agreed,” Joana says, surprising Cris. “On the count of three, okay?”

Cris nods. “One.”

“Two.” She can hear the intensity in Joana’s voice.

“Three!” Cris cries.

She pushes off from the floor, feeling Joana rise behind her. Immediately she feels herself slipping, her feet sliding away from under her body, stretching herself flat. She struggles to pull them back, bring them under her body to the place where she can use them, where they can give her the support she needs. Behind her, she hears the squeaking of Joana’s shoes as she tries to do the same. For a moment, she thinks she has it and feels herself begin to rise higher, higher. But then her foot slips out from under her again, and she sits down _ hard. _ Behind her, she hears Joana fall with an _ oof. _

“Ouch,” Cris says, laughing.

“Yeah,” Joana mutters. “Let’s try again. One, two, three.”

They rise, and once again Cris is fighting against her sliding feet, searching for some form of purchase under her body that she can use to fully lift herself into the air. Behind her, she hears Joana gasp in triumph and feels her body begin to stand up, up, up--

Except by pulling herself up, Joana’s pulling Cris back. Without a proper support on the floor herself, Cris’s body bends backward like a paper clip, her feet splaying out helplessly in front of her. Joana’s too high up, and all Cris can do is go _ down, down, down _ as her legs finally give way and she plummets to the floor again. As she falls, she crashes against Joana’s legs and sends her stumbling, headfirst, as well.

“Well, great,” Joana mutters as she moves to readjust herself.

Cris’s stomach clenches in annoyance at this. Is Joana really going to get pissed at _ her _for all that just happened? “What was that?” she asks, although she knows damn well what her partner means.

“You know,” she hisses. “I was almost there, and you had to bring me back down again.”

“Well, sor-_ ry,” _ Cris snaps without any ounce of sorrow. “While you were pulling _ yourself _ up so well, you were pulling me in a way that made it basically impossible for me to stand up myself! So who’s fault is it, _ really?” _

Joana heaves an exasperated sigh, and Cris can practically _ hear _the eye roll. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Let’s try again.”

_ It doesn’t matter now that you know you’re undoubtedly to blame? _Cris rolls her eyes. “Sure. OnetwothreeGO!”

She takes Joana by surprise with her countdown, as intended, of course, so as Cris lurches herself up, Joana is a few seconds behind. And as they rise, they’re just _ off, _pulling against each other for strength and balance, trying not to rise together but to be the first one to rise so they can drag the other down and show her who’s boss. Or, at least, that’s what Cris wants. But she doubts Joana’s intentions are any more pure as she struggles against the press of her body.

They go back and forth, push and pull, press and release. One moment it feels like Cris is winning, rising above Joana, and the next Joana’s shoved her back down and begun her triumphant ascent. Cris pushes back in defiance, no longer trying to win but just trying to bring Joana down, and then Joana responds with a clever hip twist--

And then suddenly they’re both falling, arm in arm in arm, toppling not downwards but sideways and landing hard against the wood of the stage. Cris can’t help crying out in pain as her left hip slams against the floor, followed by her head, and dimly hears Joana groaning beside her.

For a moment, they just lie there, in shock with pain and exhaustion as the world swims around them, all lights and darkness and dust. Until it solidifies into a pair of Converse sneakers standing right in front of her eyes.

Lucas peers down at them, face full of amusement. “You two need help?”

As Cris slowly unwraps herself from Joana’s arms and pushes her way into a sitting position, shaking her head against the dizziness that still threatens to engulf her, she notices that Lucas isn’t the only one that’s seen their struggles. The rest of the cast is there, watching with expressions ranging from concern to hilarity. Cris feels her face flush with embarrassment, frustration, anger. “No,” she says coldly. “We’re all good. You can stop staring now.”

“Okay.” Lucas shrugs, and Cris wants to punch him in his self-satisfied face.

As he turns away, and all the other girls slowly follow, Cris flops back onto the ground and buries her face in her hands. “Fucking--O_ UCH,” _she groans.

To her surprise, she hears a soft voice say, “You can say that again.”

Cris glances over at Joana, and sees she’s smiling at her for probably the first time ever. In that moment, she smiles back.

As Cris packs up her backpack and gets ready to leave, Joana comes up to her again. Cris doesn’t see her at first, and almost walks straight into her as she stands up to leave. “Oh--sorry,” she blurts. “What’s up?”

“Well, I was thinking,” Joana says, speaking quickly, “it might be good for us to get together and work on lines...outside of school? If that works for you?”

_ Outside of school? WHY? _ Cris looks Joana right in the eye, trying to figure out why she’s trying to make plans with her now when half an hour ago they were throwing each other onto the floor. But as always, Joana’s face is frustratingly blank, unreadable. Cris doesn’t know what she wants. She can guess though, she supposes, stomach sinking further and further with every reason she invents. Maybe Joana doesn’t think Cris is going to be ready for the show. Maybe she thinks Cris won’t practice outside of school unless she’s forced to. Maybe she thinks Cris just isn’t _ good enough. _Maybe she’s right, but Cris sure as hell doesn’t want to hear it from holier-than-thou Joana. “Nah,” she says, turning to leave. “I think I’m good. Thanks, though.”

She heads out before Joana can respond, but as she’s walking towards the door, Lucas intercepts her. “Hey, can we talk?”

_ What does he want NOW? _Cris shrugs. “Sure.”

“What happened with you and Joana earlier?” he murmurs, getting right into it.

_ THAT? _“Oh, that?” Cris mutters. “It was nothing. She just didn’t want to work with me, is all. Just focused on getting herself up, and caused me to fall down instead.”

“Okay,” Lucas says, nodding slowly. “Okay, but are you _ sure _that’s what happened?”

Cris stares at him. What the hell is he getting at? “Umm..._ yes,” _she snaps. “I was there?”

“Okay,” Lucas says again. “But are you sure it was just Joana? Are you sure you weren't also there forcing her down, fighting against her, refusing to work with her?”

Cris gets it. He overheard their conversation. “Whatever,” she says, turning to go again. “Does it matter?”

_ “Yes,” _ Lucas snaps at her. She stops, surprised by the rage in his voice. “It does matter. In fact, it matters quite a lot. This isn’t just some petty feud you can feed as much as you want, and only worry about the consequences you’ll have to face if you do. You’re in a show now. You have an entire _ cast _ depending on you and your ability to do _ your _ job properly. So you need to put aside your emotions and get your shit together, because you and Joana are going to be together for the next two months whether you like it or not! _ Okay?” _

Cris just stares at him for a moment. The anger, the disappointment in his voice...it’s everything she’s both expected and feared. _ Fuck, _she thinks. Why did she ever think she could do this? It’s becoming clearer and clearer by the day that she can’t. But Lucas is still staring at her, eyes dark and angry, and Cris knows she has to say something. “Okay,” she whispers.

She hurries out of the auditorium before he can see her cry.

Through the blur of her tears, Cris immediately sees that she’s not alone in the hallway outside of the theater. There’s another girl standing across the way, looking down at her phone. And the girl has purple hair.

_ FUCK! _ Cris thinks to herself. _ Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. _ It’s Joana, the absolute _ last _ person she wants to see right now. And she’s already noticed her.

“Hey,” she says, and her voice in the moment is so gentle and pleasant that Cris wants to scream. “Everything okay?”

Cris opens her mouth to snap something back, something like _ none of your business _ or _ why do you care? _But then she remembers Lucas’s angry, disappointed face, and she can’t. “Yeah,” she murmurs instead. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” Joana says, and goes back to her phone, civic duty clearly done.

Cris stands there for a moment, unable to speak. There’s this feeling building up inside of her, ballooning and swelling until she feels like she might burst. Finally, if only to relieve the silence, this tension inside of her, she bursts out, “Hey, you know what? I think I could meet to practice lines sometimes after all.”

Joana looks up and breaks into a grin. “Really? That’s great! Here, let me give you my number so we can plan!”

A few moments later, Cris leaves the school, backpack heavy and phone with one more contact than before. The feeling in her stomach has changed, deflated. But the discomfort still remains.


	4. Chapter 4

Cris stands outside Joana’s front door, shifting her weight back and forth. 

She’s already regretting this decision to come here, to meet Joana at her home, her place. Standing here at the entrance, Cris feels vulnerable, exposed. Out of her comfort zone. For the fifth time, she contemplates forgetting about it all, just ditching Joana and maybe texting her later with some lame excuse. But she knows she can’t. She takes a deep breath, and knocks on the door.

There’s a moment of silence as Cris waits outside for a response. In that moment, she can feel herself holding her breath in anticipation. Then she hears a flurry of footsteps from the inside and the door swings open. “Hey!” Joana cries, brushing a strand of disheveled purple hair back behind her ear. “Hi, come on in!”

“Hey,” Cris says, a little breathlessly.

She steps inside, looking around the entryway as she shakes off her shoes. It’s a nice little place, all white floors and walls decorated tastefully with pieces of art and family photos. Cris stops to smile at a picture of a young, black-haired Joana, grinning brightly at the camera with two missing front teeth.

“Can I get you anything?” Joana asks from behind Cris, making her jump. “A snack, something to drink, anything?”

Cris turns around to look at her. Joana’s smiling, but she’s bouncing her knee, fiddling with the fabric at the hem of her shirt. It occurs to Cris then that maybe, just maybe, Joana might be nervous too. The thought sends some sort of thrill through her. “No thanks,” she says. “I’m all good.”

Joana gets herself a glass of water, and then leads Cris over to her sitting room. There’s a big, cushy-looking dark green couch in the center, and Joana sits down on one side of it. After a moment’s hesitation, Cris sits down next to her. Joana leans back into the cushions, and just sits there for a second, looking intently into Cris’s eyes. Cris holds her gaze, still sitting upright, unsure of what to do and unable to move anyway. The air feels sharp, charged in some way, and Cris feels as though she’s about to burst with the sensation that... _ something  _ is about to happen. 

Joana sits up just a bit straighter, and then speaks. “So...do you have any place you want to start?”

Cris blinks.  _ Right. Lines.  _ “Um, no,” she stammers out. “Uhh--I guess the vineyard scene, maybe?”

“Okay,” Joana says cheerfully.

Cris reaches into her bag, fumbling around inside it to find that thick white book of a script when Joana speaks again. “These bells...so peaceful.”

“Sorry, just a second,” Cris murmurs, successfully finding her script and now flipping through the pages to find the scene.

“Oh, sorry,” Joana says. “I thought--well, since you didn’t have your script out at first, I thought you might be memorized already.”

Cris’s stomach clenches up. Why does she always have to do this, always have to rub in the fact that she’s more experienced, more dedicated, just  _ better  _ than Cris? For a moment, Cris was actually happy to be there, to get to know Joana more. But in one sentence, it’s all ruined again. “Like you, you mean?” she asks, carefully.

Joana shrugs bashfully. Cris wants to roll her eyes until they pop out of her skull at this display of humbleness. “I mean, I guess you could say that.”

“We’ve only had one week of rehearsals.” Cris is feeling defensive now, no more beating around the bush. “I don’t  _ have  _ to be memorized yet.”

“Of course not,” Joana responds, cool as a cucumber. Her unaffected tone just pisses Cris off more. “I just like to get started earlier, that’s all.”

“I see,” Cris says stiffly.  _ Perfect Joana and her perfect rehearsing. Of course. _

There’s a tight, awkward silence. Then Joana clears her throat. “Well, memorized or not, it’s all good. Do you want to start from the beginning again?”

Cris shrugs. “Sure.”

“Okay.” Joana closes her eyes, and then opens them again, getting into character. “These bells,” she says as Hanschen. “So peaceful.”

Cris glances down at her script again. “I know,” she says/reads as Ernst. “Sometimes, when it’s quiet, in the evening like this, I imagine myself as a…a country pastor. With my red-cheeked wife, my library, my degrees...Boys and girls, who live nearby, give me their hands when I go walking…”

She tries to make her voice sound as wistful and romantic as possible, tries to imagine what it would be like to live such a simple, lovely country life. She thinks she’s doing a pretty good job, honestly, but then she glances back at Joana and sees she’s grinning at her. “What?” she demands, breaking character.

Joana looks away, smile quickly disappearing. “Nothing, nothing,” she murmurs, but Cris can swear she sees a faint flush appear on her cheeks. “Just--you can’t be serious.”

Cris blinks at her in shock. Joana continues. “Really, Ernst, you’re such a sentimentalist! The pious, serene faces you see on the clergy, it’s all an act--to hide their envy.”

_ Oh. Right. Her line.  _ Cris reminds herself again of why they’re here. 

Joana continues her monologue, talking about the different types of men in a way that’s both funny and poignantly real. And not a single word wrong. It’s perfect.  _ Of course. _ Then she starts talking about the milk and despite her anger and frustration, Cris finds herself being drawn in, taken away by her words. Joana just speaks so smoothly, hypnotically, as she leans in close, keeps her eyes fixated intensely on Cris’s. The effect has Cris frozen, unable to breathe, or look away until Joana’s declaration of “I’m like a pussycat. I just...skim off the cream.”

“J-just skim off the cream?” Cris stammers, the words catching in her throat in a way that’s not intentional.

“Right.” Joana nods, a smirk on her face.

“But what about that--you’re laughing,” Cris-as-Ernst complains. Joana  _ is _ grinning at her, eyes full of humor and... _ affection. _ “What--? Hanschen?”

They’re at the part where Lucas cut them off at the read-through, and Cris isn’t exactly sure where to go now. But she doesn’t really want to  _ stop,  _ necessarily. And apparently, Joana doesn’t either, because she begins to sing Hanschen’s part in the song that follows.

_ Come cream away the bliss _

_ Travel the world within my lips _

_ Fondle the pearls of your distant dreams _

_ Haven’t you heard the word of your body? _

_ Oh, you’re gonna be wounded _

_ Oh, you’re gonna be my wound _

_ Oh, you’re gonna bruise too _

_ Oh, I’m gonna be your bruise.  _

The sounds of her voice, perfectly clear and melodic in that living room space, wrap around Cris like a gentle breeze, bring shivers to her spine. She suddenly becomes intimately, painfully aware of how close they’re sitting together. They must have moved in at some point during the scene. Cris feels frozen again. She’s afraid to move closer, but she doesn’t want to move away.

“Um,” Joana murmurs, looking down. “This is the point where Ernst and Hanschen, uh, kiss. Of course, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but--”

_ Kiss.  _ Cris looks down and sees it in her script as well. _ Hanschen kisses Ernst deeply.  _ She looks up, and sees once again how close their faces are together. It wouldn’t take much effort to close that distance…

“Sure,” she says, forcing carelessness. “Why not?”

“Why not what?” Joana asks quickly. 

“You know.” Cris gestures vaguely. “Practice the kiss.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Joana nods. “Practice is good.”

“It is,” Cris agrees, feeling the butterflies in her stomach begin to rise. “So...should I--”

“Sure,” Joana interrupts. “Or--Hanschen kind of initiates, so maybe if I lean in first--”

“Okay.” Cris nods vigorously.

She sits on that couch, feeling that electric energy again as she sits, eyes half-closed and waiting in anticipation for Joana to lean over and--and  _ kiss  _ her. A moment passes, and then another, and Cris wonders what on earth could be taking her so long. She cracks open an eye, and sees Joana’s face right there, just a few hairs breadths away from hers. She catches Joana’s eye, and can’t help giggling a little at the silliness of the situation. Then, she lets out a sharp breath as Joana reaches out and gently pulls Cris’s chin forward, leading her lips to brush against hers.

Cris doesn’t really know what to do at first, just sits there still like a lump with Joana’s mouth on hers. But then her animal brain kicks in, yelling  _ hello, it’s a kiss, you’ve done this before, you know what to do!  _ And so she leans in, wrapping an arm around Joana’s neck in order to bring their bodies closer together. Joana responds in kind, snaking her arms around Cris’s waist and tracing small, circular patterns on Cris’s back. The feeling is electric, and Cris pulls her ever-closer, deepening the kiss and grasping her fingers against Joana’s soft, purple hair. Joana shifts her body to press her hips against Cris’s, and Cris suddenly becomes aware of how  _ soft  _ this couch is, how wide and comfortable the cushions are and how  _ nice  _ it would be to lean back, to sink into them with Joana’s weight on top of her--

Cris’s phone buzzes loudly with a text, and they jump apart. Cris stares down at her script, lying forgotten and fallen on the ground by her feet, and then back up at Joana’s face, eyes still a bit hazy from the kiss. Something has just happened here, and they can both feel it. Something bigger, something  _ more _ than what they ever intended. This knowledge rises up in Cris’s mind, and with it, the panic in her chest. “Sorry,” she says, grabbing her phone and glancing at the text. It’s from her mom, asking her to pick up milk on the way home. “I think I have to go--thanks for the practice, though!”

And with that, she runs out of Joana’s house, away from Joana’s confused face, from that moment, that kiss, that  _ something  _ she can’t bear to think about. 

Cris enters the auditorium hesitantly on Monday, memories of that afternoon at Joana’s still fresh in her mind. Avoiding eye contact with anyone, she quickly finds her friends and hurries over to them, feeling their comforting, secure presence wrap around her like a warm blanket. “Hey, guys,” she says. “What’s up?”

“We’re trying to figure out what we’re rehearsing today,” Amira says. “Lucas...wasn’t really  _ clear _ on Friday, to say the least.”

Eva sighs. “He’s doing his best, Amira! He’s under a lot of stress, you know, directing is a big job.”

“Stress or no, I need to know if I’m staying after school for two hours or not!” Viri exclaims. “Hello, I have  _ homework!” _

The other girls voice their agreement, and even Eva relents with a nod.

“Excuse me?”

A new voice breaks through their familiar chatter, and everyone stops to look around. Cris turns too, and her heart sinks.  _ OF COURSE.  _ She couldn't stay away. It’s Joana. “Hi,” she says quietly. “Sorry to interrupt, but--” she holds out a thick, white book, and Cris realizes it’s a script. In fact, her script. She can see her little gas station receipt bookmark sticking out from the pages. “You left this.” Joana hands the script to Cris, eyeing her meaningful. As Cris reaches over to grab it, their fingertips brush together, and she feels light-headed at the contact. 

“Thanks,” she murmurs.

Joana nods back in response.

“Hey,” Nora says, butting in without really realizing it. “Joana, right? Do you know what scene we’re supposed to be doing today?”

“Oh yeah,” Joana says, laughing a little. “Lucas was a bit confused on Friday, but I emailed him. We’re going over ‘My Junk’ today.”

“Fantastic!” Viri rolls her eyes in frustration.

“Thank you, Joana,” Eva interrupts, giving Viri a meaningful glance. “See you soon then, right?”

“Definitely.” Joana smiles and turns to leave.

“Well,” Viri says. “I’m out, then.”

Amira nods. “That’s me too.” She turns to Cris. “Wanna walk home together?”

“Umm…” It takes Cris a moment to realize what she means. That she’s not in this song either, and it would make perfect sense for her to just leave now. But for some reason...she just doesn’t  _ want _ to. She wants to stay in the auditorium, in its dim lights and comfy padded chairs for just a little while longer. “Nah,” she says. “I think I might stay a bit, check it out, if that’s cool for you?”

“Sure!” Amira nods. “Have fun!”

She and Viri head out, talking and laughing. As they leave, Cris hears Lucas call “Alright!” and clap his hands. “‘My Junk’ ladies, let’s go!”

Cris makes her way up the aisle, past row after row of chairs until she finds one almost exactly in the middle. She sits down.

Although she supposes her intention was to pay attention to the rehearsal, Cris finds herself zoning out through the vocal warm-ups, the quick run-throughs of the different parts, and the drilling of the harmonies. But when they start to put it all together, she sits up and really starts to listen to the lyrics, the ways their voices blend and clash together.

It’s a nice little song, about the light, happy feeling of having a crush on someone. Listening to it, Cris feels a little buoyed up, more cheerful, tapping her foot along to the beat. Inés starts it out, with a very sweet, wistful solo:

_ In the midst of this nothing _

_ This miss of a life _

_ Still there’s this wanting _

_ Just to see you go by _

Eva, Nora, and another girl join in, singing back and forth in a kind of beautiful, love-filled trio:

_ It’s almost like loving _

_ Sad as that is _

_ May not be cool _

_ But it’s so where I live _

_ It’s like I’m your lover _

_ Or more like your ghost _

_ I spend the day wondering _

_ What you do, where you go _

_ I try and just kick it _

_ But then what do I do? _

_ We’ve all got our junk _

_ And my junk is you _

All their voices flow together in the chorus, wending together in plaintive harmonies that spell out their shared longing for love, connection, reciprocation. 

_ See us winter-walking _

_ After a storm _

_ It’s chill in the wind _

_ But it’s warm in your arms _

_ We stop all snow-blind _

_ May not be true _

_ But we’ve all got our junk _

_ And my junk is you _

And then there’s a funny part too, when the girl playing Georg sings about his piano teacher in a way that's silly yet charming:

_ Well, you’ll have to excuse me _

_ I know it’s so off _

_ I love when you do stuff _

_ That’s rude and so wrong. _

But the part that gets Cris the most is the part that Joana sings, right afterwards:

_ I go up to my room _

_ Put the stereo on _

_ Shoot up some you _

_ And the you is some song. _

Because... _ because _ …

Maybe Cris is imagining it, but when Joana sings it, she looks out into the audience, into the rows of empty chairs.

Looks, Cris swears, directly at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'my junk' is a very good song!! definitely recommend checking it out!!
> 
> I leave for college in a few days so I probably won't be able to update as often as I have been. but I'll do the best I can!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!! please note the ao3 rating change!! you have been warned!!
> 
> also, note the slight chapter number change. i decided to combine two chapters to make this one, so the whole piece is gonna be nine chapters instead of ten. i think that works out well, because i'm actually at college now!! so it will definitely take more time for me to write cause i have been and will be a lot busier. but rest assured i'm not giving up on this fic!!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!!

A few days later, Lucas calls Cris for a special rehearsal. The auditorium’s empty when she arrives, save for Lucas standing in the front and making a few last-minute notes. When she’s about halfway down the aisle, he turns and grins at her. “Hey, Cris! Thanks for showing up.”

“No problem.”  _ It’s basically my job, isn’t it?  _ But Lucas’s smile is so eager and earnest that she can’t help smiling back. “What’s up?”

“Ah.” Lucas closes his notebook with a snap and turns to face her, hands on his hips. “I want to start working on ‘Touch Me’ in the next week. But before I meet with the rest of the cast, I want to work on it with you individually. Your solo at the beginning is, I think, really the heart of the song, and so I want to get it right before we throw everyone else in too.”

“O-okay,” Cris says. She doesn’t really know much about this song, having only skimmed through it a bit during the read-through. But if Lucas says this solo she apparently has is important, she supposes it must be. “What do we do first?”

“I think we should start with going over the words and vocals.” Lucas heads over to the piano. 

“Okay.” Cris pulls out her script and follows him.

Lucas begins to play her part. “I’ll sing it, and you sing it back, okay?”

“Okay,” Cris says again.

Lucas begins to play the song, and sings:

_ Touch me _

_ Just like that _

_ And that, oh yeah _

_ God, that’s heaven _

_ Oh, that I like _

_ God, that’s so nice _

_ Now lower down-- _

“Wait, wait, wait!” Cris stops Lucas. The lyrics--they’re so  _ intimate,  _ so personal, just laying it all bare for everyone to hear, just--too much! They’re too much. “Lucas, what the hell? I’m not singing that!”

Lucas crosses his arms. “And why not?”

“Hello, did you hear the lyrics?” Cris stares at him in disbelief. His face is infuriatingly blank, and she wants to pound a reaction into him. “No way in  _ hell  _ am I singing that, least of all in front of a crowd!”

Lucas sighs. “Cris, did you look at this song at all before we started rehearsing?”

Cris feels her cheeks burn as she answers, “A little...but not really, no.”

“Okay.” Lucas nods. “And how much have you looked at the script, as a whole?”

Cris can’t look Lucas in the eye as she murmurs, “I-I’ve looked over my scenes, a bit.”

“But not the whole show?” Lucas asks.

Cris shakes her head slowly.

“Okay,” Lucas says again. It’s amazing how such a short, simple word can induce so much shame, burning its way through her insides. She feels as though she’s let him down in some irrevocable, poignant way. 

“Well, Cris, I definitely understand your discomfort,” he continues. “It’s hard, standing in front of everyone and being so exposed. But that’s what makes this show so meaningful--its level of vulnerability. You’re going to be expressing emotions that nearly everyone in the audience has thought or felt at some point in their life. And that’s what’s going to stay with them in the days, weeks, maybe even  _ months  _ after they see us.”

His words make sense. The lyrics, that longing for closeness--they  _ are  _ beautiful, and they do move Cris when she hears them. And she can’t say she’s never felt that way before, maybe...but still, the idea of singing them, of everyone watching her…

Lucas must have sensed her uncertainty, because he reaches over to carefully take her arm. “It’s not just you doing things like that in the show, Cris,” he says. “Lara and Inés--they basically have a sex scene, onstage. Joana--she has a whole scene where she has to pretend to masturbate.”

_ Right,  _ Cris thinks, trying not to roll her eyes.  _ Perfect Joana. Perfectly able to masturbate on stage without any self-consciousness. Of course. _

“Hell,” Lucas laughs, oblivious to Cris’s frustration, “you’re not even the only person who sings those lines in the song. We’re all doing this together. You’re not alone. Okay?”

Cris shrugs.  _ If Joana can do it…  _ “Sure,” she says.

“Great!” Lucas grins at her. “And you know what? We’re rehearsing ‘My Junk’ on Monday, with the full scene and everything. If you want, I’ll ask if you can watch, and maybe it’ll help you feel better about your own scene. How does that sound?”

“Okay,” Cris says.

Cris has forgotten most of her conversation with Lucas by the time she comes into rehearsal on Monday. She’s got more pressing concerns, like the fact that she’s still struggling in biology and her mother’s been snipping at her about it the entire weekend. Cris needs a  _ fucking  _ break, and when she gets to the auditorium, it feels like a momentary sigh of relief. A place where she can get away from all the school shit for a bit of time, even if it means singing that song in front of the entire cast. 

She’s not needed for the first hour or so of the rehearsal, so she curls up in a chair in the back of the auditorium with Amira and Viri and does her homework alongside them--or well, her friends do their homework, and Cris has her textbook and notebook out while she stares off into the distance. Occasionally, she tries a math problem, but that just ends with her giving up after a few minutes in frustration. Concentration seems to be a no-go for her today.

The cast is going over the ‘My Junk’ scene first, Cris remembers, and despite her listless feelings, she can’t help paying attention to what’s happening onstage. It’s interesting to see how their work on the scene has progressed since she last saw them rehearsing the song. The harmonies are stronger, the solos more confident. And they’re not just clustering around the piano, either. They’re onstage singing, dancing, and running through the scene that goes with it too. But she’s forgotten what this scene means, what  _ happens.  _

It starts out how she expects. Inés, Eva, Nora, and a few other girls start off the song with their wistful, dreamy verses, laughing and twirling each other around in circles. Then a piano comes on, and the girl who plays Georg plunks out a tune while she swoons over her busty, strict teacher. And then...and  _ then... _ Joana comes out. Wearing a long, white nightgown, she sits on a stool and begins to speak. 

“Have you prayed, tonight, Desdemona?” she calls, holding a picture aloft in her hand. “You don’t look like you’re praying, darling--lying there, contemplating the coming bliss…”

Cris watches, frozen, as Joana sneaks her free hand underneath her skirt, between her legs, tilting her head back, closing her eyes.  _ She can’t be--no--but she IS...she is... _

“Hanschen, you all right?” The voice of the other adult woman in the cast jolts Cris out of her thoughts, and Joana-as-Hanschen as well. She bolts upright, and her legs snap shut. 

“My stomach again, Father. But I’ll be fine,” she calls, looking as frustrated as Cris feels.

“Yes?” the woman calls again.

“Fine!” Joana shouts desperately back.

“Well, then.” The woman seems to back away.

Joana hesitates for a moment, then holds up the picture and opens her legs again. Pressing forward, moving more vigorously against her hand, she speaks again. “Darling, don’t think I take your murder lightly. The truth is, I can hardly bear to think of the long nights ahead…” As she continues, her movements under her skirt become more rapid, more urgent, and her voice becomes breather, punctuated by gasps. “But it’s sucking the marrow from my bones, seeing you lie there. Motionless. Staring at me, so innocently. One of us must go--it’s you or me.”

Cris feels rooted to the spot, absolutely riveted as she gazes at Joana’s closed eyes, her half-open mouth, the movement of her skirt and the gyrations of her hips--

The woman who plays the piano teacher shouts her line, and Joana freezes her scene. Cris wants to yell in frustration for some reason--the act of motion, the anticipation, it can’t all stop now!

But Joana deftly switches hands at the piano teacher’s request to  _ bring out the left hand, _ and continues her fantasy, now letting soft moans interrupt her speech. “Darling, why--why--do you press your knees together? Even now, on the brink of eternity? Don’t you see it’s your terrible chastity that’s driving me to…”

She’s close--Cris can tell, and she’s on the edge of her seat, watching, waiting for that release. Waiting so urgently that she nearly jumps up in protest when the woman who plays Joana’s father interrupts  _ again.  _

_ “ _ Hanschen, that’s enough in there.”

“Yes, sir,” Joana squeaks, looking panicked at being stopped so close to completion. She looks around anxiously for an escape. 

“Back to bed,” her father says firmly. Joana freezes, hand up her skirt and terrified, and he calls again. “Son?”

“One minute,” Joana whispers. Then, to her and Cris’s relief, she continues, pressing her hand and hips even faster than before, with a far greater sense of urgency. “One last kiss. Those soft, white thighs...those girlish breasts...O, those cruel, cruel knees…”

_ Now,  _ Cris is certain, this is it. The moment of reward, of utter satisfaction…

But then the actress who plays Georg butts in with her solo, and the song continues without any conclusion to Hanschen’s efforts! She watches the rest of the scene on the edge of her seat, pressing her legs together in frustration as she watches Joana gasp, grasp at the hem of her skirt, and buck her hips more and more fervently against her hand until finally,  _ finally,  _ as the song climaxes, so does she, her head lolling back, her face spreading into a perfect, blissful smile, her whole body sagging in relief. In that moment, Cris feels that release too, all the tension draining away as she leans back into her seat. She closes her eyes, and waits for her breathing and heart rate to return to normal.

“Okay!” Lucas claps his hands together. “Our first rehearsal for ‘Touch Me’! Are you girls ready?”

There’s a chorus of  _ yeahs  _ and  _ HELL yeahs  _ and  _ let’s do its,  _ and Cris glances at her friends; those who look excited (Eva, Amira), and those who look a bit embarrassed (Viri, Nora). She grins in anticipation. 

“Cris!” Lucas spots her, and hurries over. “You ready?” he murmurs.

Cris looks into his eyes. She’s come down from that moment before, but her body still feels light, her knees still slightly shaky. And right then, she feels as though she understands the song completely; the intense longing of the lyrics, the overwhelming desire for touch, release that threatens to overtake. She nods. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

“Alright.” Lucas goes over to the piano, and begins to play the soft, flowing melody.

Lara begins the song, singing a wistful, dreamy verse:

_ Where I go,  _

_ When I go there _

_ No more memory anymore _

_ Only men on distant ships _

_ The women with them _

_ Swimming with them, to shore _

Amira takes over, leaning in, inspired by Lara’s words.

_ Where I go, _

_ When I go there _

_ No more whispering anymore _

_ Only hymns upon your lips _

_ A mystic wisdom _

_ Rising with them, to shore _

Cris listens to each verse in anticipation, body tingling, raring to go. The words they sing only intensify the feelings inside of her, growing and growing until she feels as though she’ll  _ burst _ if she doesn’t get to go soon. Once Amira finishes, she waits until Lucas cues her in, and then  _ sings. _

_ Touch me  _

_ Just like that _

_And that, oh yeah __  
_ _Now, that’s heaven_

_ Now, that I like _

_ God, that’s so nice _

_ Now lower down _

_ Where the figs lie _

As she sings, she feels that sense of  _ release, _ of telling the truth she holds deep inside of her. Relieved, smiling, she glances around the circle of girls, watching them watch her. Until she sees Joana, and she stops. Because she’s looking straight at her. Because she’s staring at her with as much intensity as she can muster. And as the cast sings, as the melodies and countermelodies swirl and weave around them, Cris stares back, and holds her gaze.

_ Oh, oh my God, oh, yeah yeah yeah _

_ Oh, oh my God, oh, yeah yeah yeah _

_ Touch me… _

Joana stares back, unwaveringly. It feels as though she’s challenging Cris as she sings, daring her, almost. To listen to the song. To obey it. 

_ Touch me, all silent _

_ Tell me please  _

_ All is forgiven _

_ Consume my wine _

_ Consume my mind _

_ I’ll tell you how  _

_ How the winds sigh _

Cris challenges Joana right back. Two can play this game, and she’s not going to be the first to back down. It almost feels as if there’s some pull between them, some strange magnetic force. She feels herself take a step forward, hypnotized.

_ Touch me, just try it _

_ Now, there, that’s it  _

_ God, that’s heaven _

_ I’ll love your light _

_ I’ll love you right _

_ We’ll wander down  _

_ Where the sins cry _

Joana takes a step forward too, matching Cris in movement perfectly. Her eyes seem to laugh as she does so, twinkling in self-satisfaction. And then, Cris doesn’t care about the people singing around her, doesn’t care about their space, about the circle that they’re supposed to be making around the piano. She won’t let Joana get the last word. She takes another step. And another.

_ Touch me, just like that _

_ Now lower down  _

_ Where the sins lie _

_ Love me, just for a bit _

_ We’ll wander down  _

_ Where the winds sigh _

_ Where the winds sigh _

_ Where the winds sigh… _

“Great job!” Lucas claps his hands together again. 

Cris jumps back at the sound. She realizes all of a sudden how close she’s gotten to Joana throughout the last verse. They’re standing only a foot or so apart. Cris glances up at Joana, her face only inches away. Then, she glances at the girl they’ve moved in front of, blocking her view almost completely. She stumbles backward.

“Good work today, everyone,” Lucas is saying as she tries to collect herself. “We’ll take this on again tomorrow, okay? Add a bit of choreography.”

There’s a chorus of agreements, and then  _ thank you’s, _ and the cast begins to scatter, heading back down the steps to collect their stuff. Cris recognizes vaguely that she should join them, that she’s got a lot of homework and she needs to head out. But she can’t move in that moment. Her body’s stuck, and all her brain can do is think about what’s just happened, what’s been happening, and what it all  _ means.  _ Every time she blinks, she sees Joana’s eyes, staring intently back at her.

The sound of her cast members begins to die down, and as she listens to their voices echoing up the aisles and out the doors at the back, she shifts her feet again. Glancing over to the piano, she sees Lucas shoving papers into his bag. He looks up, and catches her staring. “Everything okay, Cris?”

Cris blinks. “Y-yes,” she says without thinking. “I just--needed a moment.”

Lucas nods cheerily. “That’s fine!” He swings his bag over his shoulder. “I have to be somewhere ASAP, but are you okay with closing up? All you have to do is switch off the lights and let the door shut all the way behind you.”

Cris nods, still feeling dazed. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

He grins. “Great! See you tomorrow, then.”

“See you.” Cris waves as he leaves.

She watches him make his way up the aisle and out the auditorium doors, and then heaves a sigh. She turns to leave.

“Hey,” Joana says quietly.

Cris nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound of her voice. Preoccupied with Lucas’s leaving, she hadn’t noticed anyone else still there. But there Joana is, eyes still intense, but softer now, and she’s  _ looking  _ at Cris in a way she’s never looked at Cris before. It makes Cris feel as exposed as Joana was in that white dress. 

“H-hey,” she says, confused.

But she doesn’t have much time to be confused any longer. Because Joana is moving forward, and Joana is throwing her arms around Cris and  _ kissing  _ her, Joana is  _ kissing  _ her, and it’s not in a rehearsal, practicing for a scene--it’s real, all real, and Cris finds herself wrapping her arms around her neck and pulling her close because, it turns out, all Cris wants to do is kiss her back.

“Here--” Cris stumbles over her words, mouth still against Joana’s, stumbling backward into the wings. “Couch--there’s a couch--”

But Joana’s already seen it, and Cris feels her hand steady against her back as she guides her firmly towards the familiar blue couch. Cris feels the armrest pressing against her spine, and she leans back, allowing Joana to lower her against the comfy, worn cushions. At the read-through, her mind was full of worries of bugs and eggs, but those thoughts are immediately driven from her mind as she feels Joana reaching down to unbutton her pants. 

“Okay?” Joana murmurs breathily, lowering her mouth to press kisses against Cris’s neck and collarbone.

Cris has no idea how she can even speak in this moment, mind overwhelmed with the  _ feelings  _ of Joana’s lips against the tender spots on her neck, and their movement down as she carefully rolls Cris’s shirt up to her shoulders, leaning down to kiss her stomach. Somehow, she manages to choke out an answer.  _ “Please.”  _

She doesn’t have to ask twice. Joana’s hands get busy again, deftly unbuttoning her buttons and pulling down the zipper. A bit more maneuvering and wriggling on Cris’s part and her pants slide down to her ankles. Joana looks down at her, Cris naked and vulnerable beneath her, and Cris can feel both of them shaking in anticipation as she reaches out so slowly, so carefully for the waistband of her panties. She shivers at the rush of air as Joana gently pulls them down, exposing her fully to the backstage world. And then--she feels her eyes close, her back arch in pleasure, as Joana’s fingers slip their way inside her, holding her fast. And all Cris can do is press against her touch, gasp, moan for  _ more, more, more. _ And Joana complies eagerly, moving her hand in and out, applying just the right pressure in just the right spot in time with Cris’s breathing. Her thumb reaches up and gently strokes against Cris’s clit, and Cris involuntarily cries out against the touch. Her entire body begins to grow weak as the feeling builds, builds, builds against the continuous movement until Cris feels like she’s going to  _ burst _ with the goodness of it all. She wants this to end, to give her that dazzling sensation of perfection, and doesn’t want this to end all the same, wants to live in this moment of absolute care forever, to look down on Joana’s purple hair brushing against her bare skin as she feels her inside of her forever, the two of them moving flawlessly as one.

When she comes, it’s too soon and not soon enough. Her entire body shudders with spasms of total bliss and as the feelings rush through her, electrify every inch of her, she can’t help it--she feels the name leaves her lips, calls out, “Joana... _ Joana!” _ like a prayer as she rides out her orgasm and settles into stillness. Smiling, Joana carefully removes her hand and sits up, looking down at Cris lying limp below her.

“Fuck,” Cris murmurs. 

“Fuck,” Joana agrees.

Cris isn’t exactly sure what to do now. Say thank you, maybe, for the best sex of her life?  _ No,  _ she decides firmly.  _ No, I can’t give her that satisfaction. It has to be even. _

“Your turn,” she says.

Joana blinks. “My turn?”

Cris smirks, as best anyone can while also pulling up their pants. “You heard me,” she says. “Your. Turn.”

She reaches up to take Joana’s face in her hands, and pulls her into a kiss. Joana leans in eagerly, falling down onto the couch cushions as Cris tugs her forward, and then lies her back. As she leans down to kiss Joana’s neck, she glances up, just to be sure. “Yeah?” she asks.

Joana’s face has changed. No longer are her eyes stare intently at a target, no longer is she smiling in satisfaction. Now, her eyes are half-closed, blank with bliss, and her mouth is open slightly in a gasp. She gives Cris a half-nod before she leans back again.

Cris grins, and leads her trail of kisses down Joana’s neck, unbuttoning her shirt in order to reach her goal; to kiss her chest, her stomach, until she reaches the waistband of her pants. Cris reaches a hand up to unbutton them, carefully, purposefully hooking the waistband of her underwear as she pulls them down…

And then she lowers her mouth slowly, deliberately into Joana.

At first, she’s not really sure what to do. She’s never even been eaten out before, much less eaten someone else out herself. But she flicks out her tongue tentatively and feels Joana jolt, hears her gasp, and thinks,  _ Yeah. I can do this.  _

Cris moves with Joana, bringing her tongue around to the places that make her moan, make her cry. She presses slowly at first, but as Joana’s reactions become more frantic, as Cris feels her hands reach out, grasping against her blonde hair for support, she moves faster, darting between those places of pleasure as she teases her, dares her to finish for her. In that moment, she knows nothing better than the feeling of Joana beneath her, practically inside her mouth. She savors the sensation of knowing that right now, she’s absolutely in Cris’s power. She gasps when Cris wants her to gasp, sighs when Cris wants her to sigh, and begs when Cris wants her to beg for more. And that’s exactly what Cris gives her.

When Joana comes, Cris feels her whole body grow limp beneath her, and allows herself a moment of satisfaction as she guides Joana through. As the tremors subside, Cris lifts her head back up, wipes her mouth, and then rests it on Joana’s stomach. Now that her job is done, she feels exhaustion overtaking her, and senses the same in Joana. As she lies there, she feels the touch of Joana’s fingers, running their way carefully through her hair.

“W-what happens now?” Cris finds herself asking, finally. “What--what are we now?”

She feels Joana tense up underneath her, feels the hands in her hair subside. “I don’t know,” she answers. “What--what do you want us to be?”

“I--” Cris realizes she doesn’t know how to respond to that question. Or can’t quite let herself know, yet. The correct answer seems to float above her just out of sight, out of reach, and she can’t give any response. “I--”

“It’s fine.” Joana moves to sit up, and Cris feels herself falling back, alone, onto the couch. “It doesn’t matter. We don’t have to be anything.”

Cris watches, mouth open, as Joana pulls her pants up, grabs her bag, and jumps off the stage.

She knows that’s not quite right, not the answer she’s looking for. But what she  _ is  _ looking for, she can’t articulate yet.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!! I'm back for one night only!! a few things before we get started:
> 
> college has started. college is very busy. college has been low-key traumatic. therefore, PLEASE do not send me any asks, comments, etc. begging me to update. it only serves to stress me out. I write when I can, and i won't just give up on this fic. so please, please trust that I will update when I can!!
> 
> thank you!! and please enjoy!! <3

Joana’s sudden departure leaves Cris spinning.  _ We don’t have to be anything-- _ what is  _ that  _ supposed to mean? Has this all been nothing; these burning looks across the room, these charged moments when they’re alone? That sex on the couch backstage, so desperate but also so caring, so in tune to each others’ wants and feelings? Cris shakes her head.  _ Of course not.  _ It  _ can’t  _ be. She knows in her heart that it’s not. People don’t act that way for nothing.

Or maybe it’s just her own personal feelings taking over, her own desire for it to be something  _ more  _ than just some cheap fling. Maybe this really is what Joana’s wanted all along, and now that she’s gotten it, she won’t care about Cris anymore. The thought makes Cris’s stomach turn as she lies there, bare and confused in the backstage darkness. Maybe that  _ is  _ the case. But she’s not quite ready to let it go just yet.

Cris dresses and wanders home that night in a daze. She can only  _ hope _ she’s remembered to lock the auditorium door because her mind and her body feel so separate from each other in this moment. Her legs move, take her down the right streets and trains home, but her brain is worlds away, running the scenes of the past few hours on repeat, remembering the feeling of Joana’s body beneath her, her fingers inside of her, her lips on her lips--

“You’re back late.”

Her mother’s voice oozes its way through the dim light of the living room, stopping Cris dead in her tracks.

“Yeah,” she says shakily, avoiding her eyes. “I had musical rehearsal. Remember?”

“Right.” Her mother sighs, a deep, slow exhale. “Your little play. I remember. How’s that going?”  
Cris’s stomach clenches. There’s weight behind those words, she knows it--her mother has never been the _how was your day _type of parent. But today she can’t put her finger on it, can’t quite guess on that glittering behind those eyes, and so all she can do is answer with the truth. Or at least part of the truth. “Fine. It’s going fine.”

“Lovely.” Her mother stands up, begins to move away from Cris and towards the kitchen as though the conversation’s ready to be over. Cris doesn’t get it. Is that truly all she wants from her?

“Yeah,” she says, pushing it despite her better judgment. “It  _ is.” _

Her mother stops at the doorway, foot still poised to walk. She doesn’t look back as she murmurs, “Careful, Cristina. Don’t get too caught up in this acting thing. Who knows what might happen, what people might think?”

With that, she’s gone, and Cris feels as though the floor’s about to slip out from underneath her as she whispers to herself fervently, frantically:  _ she doesn’t know, there’s no way she can know, she doesn’t know anything... _

That night, her dreams are full of confused hands and bodies and long, white nightgowns, and she wakes up just as tired as before.

Cris’s nerves don’t abate much the next day as she arrives at school, winding her way listlessly through the crowds of people until she finds her friends to stand by. Whenever she hears people laugh as she passes by, or catches someone’s eye, she feels her breath catch in her throat. She murmurs to herself over and over again that  _ there’s no way they know, they can’t know, they’re not looking at you, it’s okay  _ but she supposes she  _ doesn’t  _ know that, really. Perhaps Joana really doesn’t care about her, to the extent that she’s told whatever mysterious friends she must have about their little encounter. Or maybe (and Cris’s stomach clenches at the thought), the school has security cameras backstage. And they’ve seen  _ everything. _

Cris doesn’t relax even a little bit until she can duck into the windowsill and hide behind her friends. Their smiles and greetings offer her a bit of relief too, and they hardly give her a second glance before they turn back to their conversation--something about a comment Alejandro made about the show.

“I mean, he’s not wrong,” Viri says earnestly.  _ “Spring Awakening is  _ a very sex-themed show.”

“Sure,” Nora says. “But it’s not  _ orgiastic.  _ And if he’s going to go just so he can see a bunch of girls getting it on together, then he’d best just not go at all. He’d totally miss the message behind it, anyway.”

Viri opens her mouth to respond, probably to defend Alejandro’s ability to comprehend the important meaning of the show, but Cris doesn’t hear her. She leans back against the wall, feels the cool glass of the window pressing against her back.  _ Going to go so he can see a bunch of girls get it on together… _

She feels sick again.

But despite their conversation, her friends’ inane manners do help calm her down a little. The fact that they don’t pay her too close attention or ask her any leading questions makes her feel certain that there’s no rumors going around about her. Her friends would let her know if that was the case. Cris isn’t sure about most things in life, but she trusts her friends. And so when she heads to her first class, she does feel a bit more confident, more steady on her feet.  _ The school barely gives a shit about the drama program anyway,  _ she thinks to herself as she sits down in her seat.  _ No way in hell they’d go through the trouble of putting security cameras up there.  _ And, fortunately and unfortunately, Cris really isn’t sure if Joana  _ has  _ friends.

So the day passes without incident, and Cris is able to put the thoughts about Joana and their... _ encounter _ out of her mind for now.

By the time rehearsal comes around, though, Cris’s worries are back in full-force and she has no idea how today is going to work, how she’ll be able to face Joana after everything that’s happened. How she’ll be able to see her and act neutral about it, pretend that they’re just barely more than strangers, just two people who happen to be in the same musical cast when they’ve _ never _ just been that, not really. Since the day of the read-through when this whole mess of a show began, they’ve been growing and developing into... _ something. _ And Cris knows she can’t switch off that transformation now. 

But despite everything, Cris’s feet still walk, and they take her through the halls, past the math and science wing, down the stairs and deep into the depths of the school where most kids never go. They take her to the theater for rehearsal, and by the time Cris pushes open the heavy door to the auditorium she knows that somehow, someway, the show must go on. And so she plasters a cheerful smile onto her face and saunters in as though she might have any semblance of a plan.

“Cris!” Lucas’s eyes light up when he sees her. “Just the gal I wanted to see!”

Cris focuses her smile again, and tries to muster up a cheery tone. “Hey, Lucas. What’s up?”

“So I know that the schedule today says that we were going to go over ‘The Bitch of Living’,” Lucas chirps, and Cris nods although she’s totally forgotten the schedule, because she knows Lucas is waiting for her to nod. “Well, I was thinking...we haven’t done like,  _ any  _ work on Joana and your scene, with ‘The Word of Your Body (Reprise)’! So, would you be okay with going over that instead?”

Cris can feel herself staring at him blankly as the words sink in.  _ This has got to be some sort of joke.  _ Searching his eyes, she wonders for a moment if he  _ knows,  _ if she was right and there are some sort of security cameras backstage after all. But he seems completely oblivious as he grins down at her, appearing by all accounts just a chill guy who wants to direct a good show. And as one of his actors, she doesn’t really have a choice, does she? So she nods. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Great!” Lucas beams at her. “I’ll go find Joana now! Meet you in the green room in ten.”

“Sure. See ya.” As soon as he’s gone, Cris closes her eyes and shakes her head in disbelief. What a ridiculous fucking world. 

“Alright!” Lucas claps his hands together. “Let’s just begin by having you two go over your lines, and if you wanna move around a bit, feel free to go right ahead…”

He glances over at them, clearly expecting some sort of verbal response. Cris has nothing. She gives him a shrug. 

She doesn’t turn to look over at Joana.

This time Cris knows her lines, and as she places her script down on the floor in front of Lucas, she feels a fleeting sense of triumph as he grins at her. The feeling dampens, but only slightly, as Joana leans over to place her script on top of Cris’s. The books line up together perfectly, spines and pages forming a neat little rectangle. The sight holds her gaze for a moment, mesmerized by the clean white lines. Then Joana speaks. “These bells. So peaceful.”

It’s showtime.

It’s not good. Cris feels it from the start. As they run through the scene, she feels as though she’s experiencing the rehearsal from outside of herself; hearing her words as a spectator instead of the speaker; moving her body as though without any prior knowledge of how bodies are supposed to move; seeing Joana’s own movements and processing them just a bit too late to understand what they are meant to mean or how she should respond. She cringes as she hears herself talk about the orchards, her future wife, curses herself as she takes a second too long to act surprised by Joana’s ‘sentimentalist’ comment. Her face feels stiff, awkward, wholly  _ molded  _ as she tries to react to Joana’s speeches about milk and cream, and her stammer of  _ skim off the cream?  _ feels too forced, manufactured.

It may just be her frustrated hopes, but it almost seems to Cris that Joana’s struggling as well. Even though Cris knows for a fact that she memorized her lines ages ago, she trips over her words at crucial moments, and can’t seem to meet Cris’s eyes. Her monologue sounds stilted and flat, and there’s no energy in the suggestive comments her character makes. It’s not as though there’s no feelings between them as they recite (Cris could never ignore the weight of that unsaid  _ something,  _ that silent fact that seems to solidify the air between them), but rather those feelings now act more like a barrier than a conduit for their feelings to flow. Everything just feels... _ stuck. _

“Okay,” Lucas says when they finish. Cris feels her cheeks heat up immediately; she knows that what comes next will not be complimentary. “That’s...a good start, I guess. Have you guys practiced this together before?”

Cris glances at Joana, then immediately averts her gaze when she sees Joana looking back at her. “Yeah,” she says quietly.

“Alright.” Lucas nods. “Well, are you guys...doing okay? Feeling sick, or anything?”

Cris’s stomach jumps at the question.  _ He can’t know, and of course he doesn’t know, but he CAN’T KNOW… _ “No, no,” she says quickly, and she hears Joana murmuring a similar denial beside her. “Everything’s fine.”

“Okay.” Lucas takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. “Alright, this is what I think needs to happen. I think there’s some tension here that we need to address, and I think the main reason it’s here is because--”

Cris feels every muscle in her body tense.  _ He can’t know-- _

“You just don’t know each other well enough!” Lucas grins at them, as though he’s figured everything out. Cris grins back in relief. He couldn’t be further from the truth. “So,” he continues, “I’m going to give you guys a half-hour alone in this room. And I want you guys to  _ talk  _ to each other. I want you guys to really  _ get to know _ each other. Practice active listening and all that stuff. And then after a half-hour, I’ll come back, and we’ll see how this scene runs. Okay?”

Cris feels her smile slip off her face as quickly as it came.  _ Oh no oh no oh NO-- _ “Oh,” she murmurs. “Oh, uh, Lucas--I don’t think--I don’t think that’s gonna be necessary?”

“Really?” Lucas gives her a hard look, and Cris feels herself flush again. “Well, Cris, I’m the director, and I think it’s necessary. So you’re gonna do it. Okay?”

Cris’s face burns. She’s never seen Lucas like this before, and she can tell he’s  _ angry.  _ “Okay,” she whispers.

“Great.” Lucas claps his hands together. “A half-hour. Let’s go.”

The sound of the door closing behind him sounds heavy and final. A clear message:  _ There’s no way out. _

“‘I don’t think that’s gonna be necessary?’” Joana turns to Cris as soon as Lucas leaves, eyebrows quirked in a question.

Cris rolls her eyes. The last thing she needs is a lecture from Joana right now. “You know what I mean,” she mutters. “I--I already  _ know  _ you. We don’t need to, like, sit alone for half an hour for that.”

She’s blushing  _ again  _ as she says this, and she doesn’t even want to know what Joana’s face looks like right now. She doesn’t want to be sitting her with Joana, thinking about just  _ how  _ they know each other. 

“Fair enough.” Joana leans back in her chair and pulls out her phone. The message, Cris figures, is clear.

The moments pass in stifling quiet. The only sounds in the room are the faint ticking of a clock somewhere, the faint noise of Joana tapping away on her phone, and the distant ringing in Cris’s ears left over from too many loud parties. The silence is deafening, and she finds herself squirming in her seat waiting for something,  _ anything  _ to happen. Every so often she glances at Joana, trying to get at least  _ some  _ sense of what she’s thinking, but Joana’s just looking resolutely down. Scrolling through Instagram or something. Cris can’t  _ stand _ it.

Finally, she breaks. “That’s all? ‘Fair enough’?”

Joana takes a moment to respond. Her eyes don’t leave her phone. “Sure. I mean, you’re right.”

Any other time, Joana telling her that she’s right would be a beautiful moment. But now it just frustrates Cris more. “No,” she says. “I’m not.”

“...Okay.” Joana still doesn’t look up.

“I mean,” Cris says, “sure, we know... _ some  _ things about each other. But when it comes down to the basics, do we really know each other? Like, where am I from? What’s my favorite subject in school? What’s my favorite color? Can you answer  _ any  _ of those questions?”

Finally,  _ finally,  _ Joana puts her phone down. “No,” she says. “I can’t. But why does it matter, Cris? I thought it was clear that we didn’t  _ have  _ to know each other.”

Cris feels all the anger and confusion that she’s been swallowing over the past day bubbling up inside of her. “No,” she snaps. “No,  _ you  _ decided that. You just--you just  _ left,  _ and now you act like this is  _ on me.” _

“I left because you didn’t have a  _ response!”  _ Joana retorts. “And, well, that was clear enough for me!”

Cris shakes her head in disbelief. “You left because I didn’t know what to say after, what,  _ five seconds? _ Joana, I--” she shakes her head again. “You’re the first girl I’ve ever been with, you know? I never--I never really  _ thought  _ about being gay until like, a few weeks before now. I had a  _ lot  _ to think about, and you expect me to make a decision in five seconds?”

Joana’s looked away from her, and Cris can’t see her face. She glances down at Joana’s hands for a second, watches them clench and unclench. “Besides,” she murmurs, leaning in a bit closer. “We don’t even  _ know  _ each other yet.”

Cris keeps watching Joana as she sits there, completely still, processing. Finally, she closes her eyes and nods. When she speaks, she speaks slowly, as though every word is an effort. “I was born in Rosario, Argentina. My family moved here when I was thirteen. My favorite subject in school is literature. I love reading, and I love putting myself in the mindset of other characters. I think that’s why I like acting too. And my favorite color is purple, as you may have guessed.”

Cris glances over her long, purple hair. She laughs, and Joana laughs a bit too. “Is that good?” Joana asks.

“Yes.” Cris smiles at her. “It’s a good start.”

“Okay.” Joana smiles back. “Your turn, then.”

“Okay.” Cris clears her throat. “I’m from Zaorejas, a tiny little village in Guadalajara. My family still has a house there, and we go there from time to time. My favorite class...I don’t really have one. I kind of hate school.” This makes Joana laugh, and that encourages Cris. “And my favorite color--I don’t know, honestly. I think--I think it’s probably yellow. But not like a bright, neon tennis-ball yellow. More of a warm, sunflower yellow. I think that’s what I like.”

Joana grins. “I like that. It suits you.”

Cris feels her cheeks heat up at that, and she doesn’t know why. “Thank you.”

“And why did you decide to do this show?” Joana asks.

Cris laughs. “Oh, that,” she says. “Lucas heard me singing one time, and he basically guilted me into auditioning. So here I am.”

“Really?” Joana raises her eyebrows. “What were you singing?”

“Don’t laugh,” Cris says fiercely. “You’re not allowed to laugh. Okay?”

Joana crosses her heart. “Promise.”

“Alright.” Cris takes a deep breath. “It was ‘Old Town Road’ by Lil Nas X.”

Joana bursts out a surprised laugh. “Oh my  _ God,”  _ she gasps.

“Hey!” Cris whacks her arm. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!”  
“That had a Lil Nas X corollary,” Joana gasps out. “Holy _shit. _And that made Lucas want you to audition?”

“I guess so.” Cris can’t help laughing too. “And I guess he liked me.”

“And do you like it?” Joana asks, serious again.

Cris thinks about that for a moment, running her memories of daily after-school rehearsals and memorizing songs and lines. “Yeah,” she says finally. “I do. I think I do.”

“I’m glad.” Joana smiles at her. 

Cris smiles back, and in that moment she realizes just how  _ close _ they’ve gotten in these past few moments. So close that she could just lean in a few inches and close the distance between their faces--

And suddenly she feels that distance shrinking as she sees Joana leaning in, ever so carefully, slowly...and she feels herself leaning in too, to meet her--

The door swings open with a bang, and they jump apart. “Feeling better?” Lucas asks. “I hope so. Ready to run again?”

Cris glances at Joana, and meets her eye. The two burst out laughing.

“What?” Lucas asks, although he’s grinning along with them, likely pleased that his plan seems to have worked.

“Nothing,” Joana and Cris say in unison, and then burst out laughing again.

As they go to run back through the scene, Cris feels, with relief, how much the knot in her stomach has lessened.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu on tumblr @orpheuscris!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!! I'm on winter break!! so here's a new update for you!! my break is long, and I hope to finish this baby up for you in the next month or so. thank you so much for your patience, you all have been incredible!! I hope you enjoy!! <3 <3 <3

“Good work!” Lucas grins at the two of them, all smiles now that the tension has melted away and he’s gotten them to work together again. “See you tomorrow!”

“See you, Lucas,” Cris calls, smiling back as she watches him swing his bag over his shoulder and leave.

She turns to look at Joana and sees that she’s smiling too; the tired, satisfied grin of someone who’s worked hard at something and can finally step back and gaze at a job well-done. “Good work,” she says, bumping gently against Cris’s shoulder.

“Hey, backatcha,” Cris teases, nudging her in return.

Joana stops suddenly and Cris stumbles forward, landing in her path. And then there’s that moment, that world-stopped-spinning-ness as Cris realizes that Joana is  _ right there,  _ and Cris is  _ right there; _ their bodies are so close, and all it takes is just one movement, one moment of daring to bring them together--

And this time there’s no more rehearsal, no more lines left to be said, no more Lucas to interrupt them. And so Cris reaches up and does what she’s been wanting, deep down, to do since the beginning--she takes Joana’s face in her hands and kisses her.

She feels Joana’s body tense up briefly under her touch, and then relax slowly as she leans into the kiss. Cris shifts her hands to Joana’s neck, hoping to pull her closer, but as quick as Joana leans in, her phone’s buzzing and she’s leaning back again, carefully stepping her way out of Cris’s grasp. “Sorry,” she says, looking down to check her phone screen. “I gotta go.”

“Okay,” Cris says, confused. “But--is everything okay?”  
Joana nods quickly. “Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine. I just--my parents want me home early tonight, that’s all.”

“Okay,” Cris says. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah,” Joana smiles at her. “See you tomorrow.”

She gives Cris a quick kiss on the cheek, and then, just like that, she’s gone again.

Cris stands still for a moment after Joana’s exit, mind a bit blurry processing what’s just happening. She feels the familiar bit of nerves stirring up inside of her again but this time, she fights against them. This time, she turns away from Joana’s echoing footsteps and focuses on the pleasant heat of the skin on her cheek and the memory of Joana’s smile, bright all the way to her eyes. She hasn’t been wrong; there  _ is  _ something there. And so for now, she won’t worry about it. Cris feels herself smile. No, she won’t worry at all. 

There’s a spring in her step for the next few days, Cris can feel it. As she walks around the school with her friends, she doesn’t worry about the possibility of sly glances her way, or any whispered rumors behind her back. She goes to her classes, does the work she can, and it almost seems as though her parents aren’t riding her ass about grades as much, for once (not like they really have a reason to, anyway, since she’s gotten some of her highest grades this year on the past few tests handed back). 

And in between all of this, she has rehearsal every day, waiting for her like a beacon. Although she and Joana don’t get many chances to talk, there are times when Cris glances at her and finds her looking back with just the kindest, happiest smile on her face. And whenever that happens, she can’t help but beam back. But what Cris really looks forward to are the moments they can catch alone, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the cast. Waiting backstage for a scene, or offering to fetch a prop or script that Lucas has forgotten, or staying behind for just a few minutes after everyone else has left. These moments are the ones that keep Cris smiling long after they’re over.

But although she’s enjoying her newfound happiness, there’s still something not quite right about it all. Something about the other times when Cris catches her eyes, when Joana’s not smiling but instead looking off elsewhere, lost in thought. Something about the times when Cris reaches out to brush her hand or give her a kiss and Joana flinches away, just for a moment. Something about how there are times when it seems like Joana isn’t sure about these feelings at all, really. And Cris supposes that’s fair. There are times when she’s uncertain as well, and it’s not like she’s told her friends, or  _ anyone,  _ about them being... _ together. _ So Cris just sits and hopes that the awkwardness will fade, and in the meantime, enjoys Joana’s smile and the little touches and kisses they steal in the darkness of backstage.

“Thank fuck it’s Friday,” Eva mutters as she and Cris push there way through the crowds of people exiting the school, swimming upstream as they strive not to leave, but go deeper into the building.

“If I had to sit for another biology class this week I think I’d scream, honestly,” she continues. “So fucking sick of that greasy little man just glowering over me the entire time I do the experiments, as if he’s just  _ waiting  _ for me to fuck up, I swear to God.”

“Serrano?” Cris asks. “Yeah, Dani had him when he went here. He swore he hated his guts too.”

Eva shakes her head. “I just don’t get it! What is it about me that screams  _ troublemaker?  _ Is there just something painted on my forehead that says, this person is gonna fuck it up?”

Cris shrugs. They begin to descend the stairs to the theatre hallway, and they’re on the final step before she can think of anything to say. She’s never been good at comforting her friends when they’re upset, it’s more of a Viri or a Nora or an Amira job. An anyone-but-her job. But Eva’s still walking, and not talking, and Cris knows that she’s waiting for her to say something. So finally, Cris stumbles out some sort of reply. “Some people just get the wrong idea. And then they just run with it.”

“I suppose,” Eva murmurs. She pushes open the auditorium door, and Cris follows her inside.

“Alright, gather around!” Lucas claps his hands together. “Now, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but opening night is in  _ two weeks!”  _ There’s a murmur of surprise and concern at this proclamation, and Cris glances over at her friends, unsure of how to feel. “That’s right,” he continues. “That means crunch time starts  _ now.  _ We’re going to try for a full run-through today, and then we’re gonna be going over every scene for the next few weeks, as many times as we need to until the things we need to fix get fixed. So  _ _ I need everyone to be  _ on it  _ from now on. No messing around, no calling ‘line.’ A-game only, okay?” 

_ What?  _ Cris feels a nervous twinge in her stomach. Lucas’s face is so intense, and it only matches the faces of everyone else around her. For the first time in a while, she wonders if Lucas was truly right when he told her to audition. Who is she to think she can do this? Memorize and perform songs and dances just like  _ that?  _ Be a  _ theatre kid? _ But as if he’s heard her thoughts, Lucas smiles. “Don’t worry, guys,” he says, and Cris can almost imagine he’s looking directly at her. “I’ve seen how hard you’ve been working these past few months. You’ve got this, and you’re going to do great.”

There’s a chorus of  _ thank you’s  _ as the cast begins to dissipate, chattering amongst themselves about the upcoming few weeks as they begin to get ready.  _ “But don’t get sloppy!”  _ Lucas calls after them jokingly.

“Never!” Eva calls back, and the group bursts into laughter.

Cris catches Joana’s eye as she joins the throng of people heading backstage. She wiggles her eyebrows at her, and Joana grins goofily back. Her looks sends a surge of energy through Cris, replacing all her anxiety with  _ excitement, _ anticipation. She practically leaps up the last few steps of the stage. As she enters the gloom of backstage, she feels a hand brush against hers, tugging her further into the shadows. Masked by the crowd of the people around her and the darkness of the wings, Cris feels herself and Joana perfectly, completely disappear.

“We can’t miss our cue,” Cris murmurs against Joana’s lips about five minutes later, as the final strains of “Mama Who Bore Me” fade away. 

Joana breaks away for a moment and looks Cris dead in the eye. “That may just be the sexiest thing you’ve ever said, Cris.”

Cris laughs. “Oh, come on. That  _ can’t  _ be.” 

“Oh, it is,” Joana grins at her. “And just as I’ve been trying to make  _ you  _ sexually frustrated enough for ‘The Bitch of Living.’”

“Joana Bianchi, she’s the best,” Cris giggles and pulls her back in for more kissing.

“Oof,” Joana murmurs, accidentally pushing away the curtain they’ve been hiding behind as Cris’s momentum brings her forward. “Shit.” She leans over to hold the curtain back in place.

“Ah, let it hang,” Cris whispers, laughing. Right now, with the faint sounds of lines being delivered onstage and the feelings of Joana’s body against hers, she feels better than she has in years.

But suddenly Joana pulls away, and Cris finds herself fumbling with empty air. “Hey,” she says, worried. “What’s up?”

“Do you--do you want to  _ tell  _ people about us?” Joana whispers. Her eyes are dark, and Cris can’t tell what they’re saying.

“Well, not if you don’t want me to,” she murmurs back. “I understand if you’re not...ready.”

“No, it’s not that,” Joana mutters. “It’s just...there’s something about me that you should know.”

These words knock the air out of Cris’s lungs as her brain immediately shifts into overdrive, spilling out worst-case scenarios.  _ Joana has cancer. She’s moving away. She’s seeing someone else _ . “W-what is it?” she manages, finally.

“I--I…” Joana hesitates, shifting her feet. “I have...a disorder,” she says, finally, and Cris feels her stomach drop, preparing for her worst fears to come true. “A mental disorder,” she continues, and Cris feels something inside her relax, just a little. It’s called...borderline personality disorder. BPD. And it means...well, it means a lot of things. It’s not a good idea for me to drink, for example. I have strong emotional reactions that others might not have or be able to understand. But most of all, it means that I need a certain amount of stability in my relationships. That I need to know what--what  _ this  _ is. What  _ we  _ are. Cris, what...what is this? What do you want this to be? Do you want...do you want us to date? Just makeout? What is it? I need to know.”

_ Date...date...date… _

It’s worse.

The word bounces around Cris’s head for a moment like some cruel, haunting echo. She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, trying to drown out the noise.  _ Date...date...date… _

Looking at Joana, she realizes that she doesn’t  _ know  _ what the answer is. She doesn’t know whether she wants to be with Joana in public, wrap her arms around her and kiss her in front of her friends,  _ argue and snipe with her like Eva and Jorge used to do... _ She doesn’t know if she wants Joana to see her, the  _ real _ her, now. She likes the Cris that she is with Joana at the moment, able to make her laugh and please her the way she wants to be pleased…

A mental illness, she can handle. Probably. Maybe. With time, and research. But if Joana were to see Cris as she is all the time, Cris and all those other parts of herself? She just doesn’t know.

Joana’s looking at Cris, and Cris realizes she needs to say  _ something,  _ anything. So she says the truest, most accurate thing she can say right now: “I--I don’t know. I don’t know, Joana.”

She isn’t expecting Joana’s face to fall as much as it does, isn’t expecting for her to let go of Cris’s hands, to step away. 

She isn’t expecting Joana to mutter forcefully, “I see, then,” and then hurriedly push through the curtain, away from her, away from  _ them.  _

As Cris watches her go, mind completely baffled over what’s just  _ happened,  _ she can hear the chorus of girls singing onstage.

_ Mama, the weeping _

_ Mama, the angels, _

_ No sleep in Heaven _

_ Or Bethlehem… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu on tumblr @orpheuscris!!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!! we're just about done, can you believe it? after this chapter, we've just got a lil epilogue, which will hopefully be out in the next week or so. thanks for sticking with me and coming on this ride!! I hope you enjoy <3 <3 <3

For maybe the first time in Cris’s life, her weekend is agony. Forget the stress of essays or quizzes--nothing, _nothing _compares to the slow burn of fear ever-present in the pit of her stomach throughout the next few days as she checks her phone, desperately, hopelessly, constantly for a text, a Snapchat, _any _sign from Joana. But there’s nothing. No messages, no photos, not even a blue read check mark to show that at least she’s paying attention. Just..._nothing. _As though all those kisses, all those stolen glances, all those hidden moments backstage have just melted away overnight. As if it’s all been..._nothing._

Cris knows it couldn’t have been nothing. There’s no way it was nothing. Except that’s what she gets, all weekend long. Back to base one, to loneliness and fear and sadness that threaten to choke her back to familiarity.

And so it’s agony, truly agony, waiting beside a silent phone all weekend, until Monday, when she can have at least a shred of hope of seeing Joana again.

“Isn’t that right, Cris?” 

“Huh?” Cris blinks, tearing her eyes away from the window that she’s been staring out of for the past...she doesn’t even know how long, looking for a familiar purple head. 

“Rehearsal today,” Viri repeats, probably. “Isn’t it just Wendla and Melchior stuff today?”

“Oh…” Cris’s stomach sinks. If Viri’s right, and Cris has no doubt that she’s memorized this week’s schedule, that means she’s not called. And Joana isn’t called. And there’s no way she’ll see her today, unless, by chance, they run into each other in this giant maze of a school. Cris feels a wave of hopelessness slowly rising up in her stomach. “I--I guess that must be right.”

“Yeah, I just checked.” Nora puts her phone down. “Just Melchior and Wendla today, Melchior, Moritz and Ilse tomorrow, Ilse, Martha, Ernst, and Hanschen Wednesday…you get the picture. None of us are called today.”

“Thank goodness,” Amira groans, leaning back. “Some time to get some freaking homework done before hell week.”

Her friends all voice their agreement, but Cris’s head is still spinning.  _ Wednesday.  _ She feels herself sink further into her chair. It sounds like forever. It’s already  _ been  _ forever. Forever plus two more days, and she doesn’t even know what’s going to happen when they see each other. “Shit,” she mutters under her breath before she can stop herself.

“Huh?” Amira asks.

Cris jumps, but before she has a chance to respond, the bell rings and the conversation thread gets lost in the scuffle of cleaning up lunches, gathering things, and preparing to head to the next class. She’s in the clear, for now, she thinks, and starts down the hall to her next class.

Or at least she thinks she is. Until she feels a tap on her shoulder, and turns around to see Amira, Nora, Viri, Eva--all of her friends, looking at her with eyes that are kind, caring, and just too damn smart.

“Hey, Cris,” Amira murmurs. “I--I know that I haven’t really been saying anything and I probably should have, but I’ve been noticing--we’ve been noticing--you haven’t been yourself lately. You’ve been...quiet, distracted, jumping at every mention of rehearsal. And I know--maybe you just don’t want to talk with us, and that’s fine, but please,  _ please  _ know--we’re here for you. So we’re just gonna ask you once, and then we won’t bother you again. But Cris, is there something wrong? Are you okay?”

In that moment, staring into her friends’ eyes, with people rushing this way and that all around them, Cris feels a strange sense of calmness beyond all that chaos. She takes the first deep breath she’s taken in days. And for the first time in a long time, she allows herself to be completely honest with them. “No,” she says, softly. “I’m not.”

“Sh--I mean, wow,” Amira murmurs about seven minutes later. “That’s...a lot.”

Cris laughs involuntarily. “You’re telling me?”

“Wow,” Nora echoes Amira. “I knew there was... _ some  _ sort of tension between you and Joana, but I didn’t realize you had a  _ showmance  _ going on.”

Cris holds up a hand. “Please, Nora. Do  _ not  _ use the word ‘showmance’ around me  _ ever  _ again. And besides...we don’t really know if it’s a  _ real... _ showmance. Things have just been...so complicated.”

“But is it complicated?” Viri’s been abnormally quiet throughout Cris’s story, not even jumping in with interjections like the rest of the girls. But now, she speaks up, softly and thoughtfully. 

“What do you mean, Viri?” Cris snaps, a bit harsher than intended. “One day she likes me, the next she’s pushing me away and ignoring me--”  
“But she’s never said she _doesn’t _like you,” Viri insists. “She just wants to know if you feel the same way. And frankly, Cris, even if you do, you haven’t exactly been willing to show her.”

Cris stares at Viri. “What do you  _ mean?  _ I’ve kissed her, I’ve texted with her, I’ve f--what do you  _ mean?”  _

“Okay,” Viri shrugs. “But when she  _ asked  _ her, what did you say?”

Cris angrily opens her mouth to respond. But then she stops. She doesn’t have a good response; she supposes it’s true that she’s never flat-out told Joana exactly how she feels, even when Joana’s asked her. But could that  _ really  _ be it? Are her actions truly not enough for Joana to understand how she feels, what she wants? “I--I guess I haven’t really said anything,” she mutters. “Or at least, nothing affirmative...but if I didn’t like her, I wouldn’t still be hanging around her, kissing her backstage and shit now, would I? She gets that, right?”

She looks around at her friends, hoping to see nods,  _ yes _ es, some form of confirmation in their faces. But they just stare blankly back at her. Eva gives her a guilty shrug. Finally, Nora speaks. “Cris, she’s been doing all the same things you’ve been doing with her, and you’re still here asking us if she likes you. You’ve got to tell her how you feel!”

Eva nods. “If I was her...damn, I don’t know if I’d be so sure either. You have to tell her, straight up, how you feel. Don’t give her any more gray areas.”

“Listen.” Viri reaches out and gently takes Cris’s hand. “You love her. She loves you. It’s  _ going  _ to work. You just need to be willing to take the necessary steps to get it there. That’s how love works.”

Cris’s stomach sinks, but she knows they’re all right. It’s exactly what she’s been afraid of this whole time, ever since she and Joana locked eyes at that audition, really. It’s the very thing she’s been running from, week after week and kiss after kiss, and what’s always been hot on her heels, no matter how much she tries to hide. But looking into Viri’s bright, hopeful expression, at Nora’s intelligent, measured nod, at Eva and Amira’s encouraging smiles, she begins to think, maybe, just  _ maybe,  _ she can do this.

She’s going to face her emotions head-on. And she’s going to show herself to Joana, and face the consequences, no matter what.

Viri’s voice echoes in Cris’s head as she sets everything up.  _ You need to do something that proves to her beyond a shadow of a doubt that you want to be with her. Like Eva said, no more gray spaces. And most importantly, relax! Don’t be afraid! You’ve got this.  _ Her advice, her words, her gentle encouragement warm her heart, calm the nerves stirring in her stomach as she thinks about what’s about to happen. 

Her friends have helped her with the cost of this thing, and Cris’s phone buzzes, right on schedule. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. And then she hears them--footsteps, coming her way--slowly, purposefully, unsuspecting, and before she has a chance to prepare herself, the door swings open. She clutches the thing close to her chest like a talisman, willing it to fill her with the words she needs to express the love inside of her.

She hears Joana’s voice, a gasp of surprise. “Cris?”

Cris turns around slowly, revealing the bouquet of flowers in her hands. Creamy white hyacinths and sprigs of baby’s breath like clouds, tied up with strands of lavender, heather, and all centered around a single hollyhock the exact same color as Joana’s hair. “Hi,” she squeaks out. Then, before she can talk herself out of it, she begins to speak, the words falling out of her mouth like a cascade of her pent-up feelings.

“I know we haven’t always...exactly seen eye-to-eye, and I haven’t always been--well, the best, or kindest or most understanding to you. But the truth of all that is I was so scared that if I let you in, if I showed you who I was, deep down, who I  _ really  _ am--you’d decide you didn’t like me as much. And you’d leave. And so I was flighty and anxious and wouldn’t commit, and I know that hurt you. And I’m so, so sorry. But I want--I needed to tell you, before the show ended and before--before I didn’t know if I could see you again, well--I’m ready now. To commit. To be with you, for real, as public as you’d like. And I’m not worried about you having BPD, or any of that. And so--” she gestures vaguely with the bouquet. “I got you these flowers, because I don’t really know  _ how  _ exactly to do the whole romance thing. But I know that--that people get each other flowers in movies and stuff when they love each other. And that’s--that’s what I wanted to tell you. Because I love you, Joana. As I’ve never loved anyone before.”

She stops to take a deep breath, finally catching up with what she’s been saying, and then she sees Joana’s face. The small smile spreading over her face, bigger and bigger, until she reaches forward and takes Cris’s hands in hers, wrapping them around the bouquet of flowers so specially picked to describe her. “And so you should,” she whispers.

This confirmation, this acceptance and reciprocation of Cris’s messy confession fills Cris up with warmth, excitement, and overwhelming, heartstopping joy. She reaches out for her, lunges, really, in her ecstasy, and Joana reaches back, the two of them wrapping each other up in an embrace that crushes the petals of the flowers between them, presses kisses to lips and foreheads and cheeks and necks, wipes away the dampness of both their tears in each other’s shirts and hair.

An embrace that marks the beginning of something bright, brilliant, and new; something to hold onto forever, maybe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu on tumblr @orpheuscris!!


	9. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! this is it, y'all! thank you for sticking around through everything! I hope you enjoyed it! I really appreciated all your kind comments, asks, and kudos, and I'm glad I get to write for this fandom <3 <3 <3

“You ready, girls?” Viri adds the finishing touches to her mascara and whirls around to fast her friends, grinning.

Cris squints at the mirror in front of her, taking a moment to adjust her lederhosen as Nora adds the finishing touches to her braids. “I don’t know,” she says truthfully. “How many people are out there?”

“A decent amount,” Eva says. “But it’s Thursday night; that’s always a smaller crowd.”

“Mmm.” Cris feels the knot in her stomach tighten, and puts her eyebrow pencil down a bit too hard.

“Hey.” Amira reaches over to squeeze Cris’s hand. “Don’t be nervous, now. You’re gonna be great.”

“Absolutely.” Eva nods. “We’re all gonna be. We’ve worked so fucking hard, and we’re gonna  _ nail  _ this shit.”

Cris gives her friends a small smile. “Thanks, guys.”

There’s a moment of silence, broken only Lara popping her head to say, “Vocal warmups in five, everyone.”

“Gotcha, thanks.” Amira nods at her.

Cris feels another jolt in her stomach at the news, and tries not to think about the small yet very present crowd behind the curtain.

Her friends begin to head over to warmups, but Cris finds herself a bit frozen to the spot, mechanically packing and repacking her makeup bag as their voices fade away.

“Hey.”

Cris jumps up at the sound, then feels a whole different jolt when she sees Joana standing in the door. “Hey,” she says.

“Not quite ready for warmups yet?” Joana sidles into the room.

Cris shakes her head. “It never really occurred to me when I auditioned that I’d have to... _ perform  _ in front of people.”

Joana laughs. “Yeah, it really sneaks up on you.”

Cris hesitates a moment. “How do you do it?” she asks.

Joana shrugs. “I don’t know,” she says. “I get scared every time I perform. But in a way, performing is the least scary part of my life.”

Cris laughs. “Really? How?”

“Once I get on stage, and I hear the first laughs, or gasps, or claps from the audience--well, it all melts away. Because when I’m onstage, I know exactly what I’m supposed to do and what’s supposed to happen, and I know pretty much exactly what people are going to think of me. It’s the only time I feel in control of myself or my life, sometimes.”

Cris nods, thoughtfully. Hearing Joana speak, seeing her eyes light up as she talks about being onstage--it makes the knot in her stomach loosen, makes her anxiety feel a bit more like excitement. “T-that makes sense.”

“Plus,” Joana reaches over to take Cris’s hands. “You’ve been working so damn hard, and you’re so talented. You know exactly what to do, and you’re going to be amazing. They’re going to  _ love  _ you.”

“You sure?” Cris leans in to wrap her arms around Joana’s neck, smiling.

“I’m sure,” Joana grins back at her.

They lean in to kiss one more time before the stage lights go up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu on tumblr @orpheuscris!!

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr @ orpheuscris!


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